You're Soaking in it

The article was titled, “Why I Stopped Wearing my Bra and Why you should too.” Seriously, did the author really suggest, "I take my bra off?"  OK, peeps, I’m just gonna break this to you gently and without much hoop-la.   I will never, let me repeat, nev-ver stop wearing my bra.

As a matter of fact, I’m thinking about coming out with my own line of bras called, Forever Up There.  Yep, that is correct.  They’re gonna be expensive, but at the same time, priceless.

What young, beautiful double D - wine soaked breast-estes  wouldn’t want to be, “Forever Up There.”  It’ll be just like my BFF Spanx- a miracle worker in a bag.  Except, instead of sucking you in, this specialty garment is gonna hold you up there- just how high you ask?  Well, that is the true gift in the contraption, you get to choose. Oh, and if you have any fear of heights, we've got that covered too.

Here's how it will work,  first select your size and than select your desired level of lift.  So if you truly want to be eighteen again, you’d choose the “You Go Girl” model.  This baby delivers you a third hand at a cocktail party, the perfect spot to hold that wine glass while you enjoy some yummy nibbles.  Think, "Mommies little helper." 

If you're not looking to start your husbands wig on fire, but are still seeking a girlish bounce, we'll get you fitted in our classic "Hello Lover" series.  Guaranteed to have your loved one running out to drape you in new baubles, say that coveted Tag Heuer diamond studded watch or maybe something simpler, like a pearl necklace.  Yes, this series is sure to be a people pleaser.

But let's face it, as the writer indicated, not all women are happy wrapped up tight in these boulder holders and some demand the freedom to go all natural.  These ladies fit into a particular series, still under development that we refer to as the "Frankly, I just Don't give a Damn"series.  This line will have particular appeal to the "Make mine a double" crowd.  Let’s face it ladies- you stepped off the edge when you started wearing the pants with the elastic around the waist (not to be confused with yoga pants, yoga pants are fabulous) and only changing out your razors once every six months.  Once you made the conscious decision to replace your Bobby Brown  moisturizer with Oil of Olay,  you'd already come to terms with not giving a rats ass, so why bother with the whole lift and separate philosophy? Proceed with extreme caution my friend. You have entered dangerously close to the, "So Just Sue Me" group and that is no  mans woman's land.  Never say never.

You got bra on?

Why is it that when I am drinking wine and I come up with hilarious ideas for a blog...the next day it is never quite as funny? Or, the next day, I sit there and look at the notes I scrawled and wonder, "What did I mean by, put your bra on"? I must really have a thing about bra wearing, that as of yet has not completely unveiled itself to even me! Ha, now I remember about the whole bra thing. I had to go through a metal detector at one of the courthouses and I set the blasted thing off. So, I did all the normal things like took off my shoes, my sweater (lucky for me, I planned in advance and wasn't wearing sleeveless) and I walked back through. Beep, beep, beep. OK, so now, I looked up at the guy and he said, "Do you have any metal replacement parts"? Now this, I had to think about...Did I? Was he talking like metal dental replacement parts? Like as in amalgam? Or did he mean like hip replacement parts? For just a minute, I had to think about it and I guess that was what me more suspicious then the guy standing behind me that was carrying (I kid you not) all his worldly possessions in two paper bags. So, I was pulled aside for a "Body" search. Now typically, I am not one that would shy away from "special attention", but come on, this is my body we are talking about here. While I may not have metal replacement parts, I have all sorts of things holding other things in place. Some are balanced rather precariously and I don't relish closer inspection by a stranger. So, there I stood, with my sweater off, my arms held out by my side and he began ravaging me with both his eyes (I swear, he sort of liked me, thought I was cute in a "like his mother way") and this foot long wand. Really, he must of thought I'd hidden some sort of device between my legs- even my masseuse knows better then to go near the inner thighs, come on people- some areas are just off limits! Just about when I was beginning to weakly protest a female guard walked over and whispered something into the young studly guards ear. He straightened up and backed away from my thighs and told me, "You are good to go". The female guard leaned over to me and said, "It's the under wire in your bra that is setting off the metal detector". Bright red, I quickly redressed and walked over to where my companion was patiently waiting and told him, "It was my stinking bra, the under wire set of the alert". My companion looked at me sort of puzzled and said, "Wow, how much wire is in there, because my metal glasses didn't set off any alarms, I'm just saying"...