My Poor Pushed-up & Under-Wired Breasts

Chuckle # 492 | June 27th, 2012
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Despite my diminutive chest, I’ve never felt the need for ‘augmentation.’  In fact, I favor the most shapeless of hippie style bras.  But lately I just haven’t been able to find them.  No one is making bras for women who prefer a more natural looking bosom, a.k.a., those of us who need only a bit of string and a few pieces of scotch tape to keep the ‘ladies’ in place. 

So why is it that every AA cup bra now comes with a completely unnecessary underwire?

The answer may be more insidious than you’d like to think.  You see, for the past few years women have been enjoying a tectonically slow power shift in our favor.  In about 500 years, we will rule the world.  Men are scared. 

The best way for men to keep us in our place is to saddle us with a torturous undergarment for 12 hours a day.  These constrictive new bras cause shortness of breath and oxygen deprivation, limiting our ability to focus, and ergo, our upward mobility.  These subversive bras are the new ‘glass ceiling.’

Pretty clever ‘evil plot’ for a gender in decline, don’t you think?  

Then again, my tiny new pink polka-dot underwire bra takes what puberty failed to deliver and turns it into Pride Rock.  A couple of inches of memory foam complete the illusion of a size D cup.  If you knew me, you’d know what a true miracle of engineering this transformation is.

My new breasts are as fake as cubic zirconia but they sure do fill out a tank top.  On the downside, they get in the way of normal activities like petting the dog and getting through airport security.  On the upside, I no longer need a lifejacket because my bra contains enough foam to qualify as a Coast Guard approved type III floatation device.

Preteen girls are happy because they no longer have to endure the awkward “training bra” stage.  Your 12 year old daughter can become a jailbait version of Dolly Parton overnight. The good news is that Dads no longer have to give their threatening pre-date speeches because the young hooligans trying to cop-a-feel aren’t getting anywhere near the real thing

So are men really the bad guys here?  As much as I enjoy throwing my husband and all mankind under the bus, I decided to do some legit research on bra design.  Most bra designers hold an engineering degree because creating a bra is a lot like designing a suspension bridge.  Most bridge builders are men.  So, by virtue of my incontrovertible didactic reasoning, men are guilty.  

And seriously, would another woman deliberately flood the market with underwire atrocities?  I think not. 

So where is the hue and cry?  Where are the angry opinion letters to the New York Times?  Where are the lawsuits from underwires snapping and puncturing a lung?  What does our silence say about our self-image? 

Maybe we shouldn’t over-analyze this…

You’ll be happy to know that I found no real evidence of a bra related male conspiracy against women.  The “new” style of bra is a simple marketplace response to a genuine need.  The average American bra size has gone from a 36C to a 36DD.  American bodies are simultaneously growing and aging.  (You know, 32 ounce soda cups and all.) 

Bigger bodies mean bigger breasts and ‘big ‘ole breasts’ droop the most.  Holding these things up requires a scientifically engineered blend of compression and tension; basically, the same force that supports the Golden Gate Bridge.

But what about the micro-breasted women?  Must we suffer along with the Double Ds?  My comfy bras are wearing out and I’m only able to replace them with the agonizing 17^th century whalebone inspired “Boobinator.” 

Since women aren’t due to take over the world for another few centuries, we are stuck with the new breast ‘body armor’ until the next fashion trend emerges.  In the meantime, I’ll be creeping young girls and their mothers out by shopping in the Macy’s training bra department.  At my age and droop, a bra burning protest is NOT an option.  I don’t need an undergarment engineer to tell me that…

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So What if My Dog Licks the Grill?

Chuckle #490 | June 13th, 2012
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Admit it.  You let your dog do funky, weird “stuff” when no one else is around.  Stuff that you wouldn’t necessarily want other people to see your dog doing.  We all do.  For example, when I’m getting ready to light the barbecue, I let my dog lick the baked-on bits off the grill.  This makes the grill extra clean and makes the dog VERY happy.


Of course if I have guests over I pretend that this behavior is completely unexpected, objectionable, and downright improper.   I wave my arms around a lot and yell “bad dog” in order to appear convincingly shocked and dismayed.  I am quite the actress.   


All this faux hoopla really confuses the dog, but mollifies the people. 

I feel terrible about yelling at my dog, but the good thing about dogs is that they forget anything you do to them in five seconds or less.  Throw them a Milkbone and it’s like it never happened.  (If only this would work on my husband.)  

Friends, however, have longer memories.  They will never forget that you fed them dog spit.  No matter how strong you make the margaritas.  Trust me.

How many people have eaten off my grill without knowing that ‘Fido’ is my sous chef?  Dozens probably.  But come on.  We all know that a dog’s mouth is cleaner than a human mouth.  Or is that just a self-serving myth perpetuated by the Humane Society so that families will adopt more strays?  

I don’t know why I feel the need to come clean about this.  Twenty minutes in a 600 degree Komodo Dragon Grill will kill anything the dog might have left behind from his own behind.

No harm done right? 

Look at it this way.  If someone lets their dog lick their face, then my dog licking the grill should barely move the needle on the ‘gross register’.  If someone doesn’t have a dog then I can understand why they could be put off by the ‘special’ ingredient that makes my burgers so tasty. 

Rest assured that, although I might let the dog lick the grill, I am fastidious about other grill tools and parts.   The pizza stone is off limits because it is porous and the spit would get absorbed into the stone.  Spatulas and tongs are likewise kept far away from Fido.

I’d also like to point out that I don’t feed my dog from the table or let him hump small defenseless children.   I have lots of rules for my dog.  So many other people don’t.

For example, I know people who let their dogs lick their plates before putting them in the dishwasher and ride on their laps in the car.  This can’t be safe.  The worst?  People who let their dogs give them what looks like mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.  Picture two inexperienced teenagers making out for the first time; now picture the same thing between a human and a dog.

Since we all know that dogs spend 75% of their waking hours licking their own balls, it is very difficult to watch a prolonged human - dog licking session without getting nauseous.

Doggie grill licking might not be for everyone, but at least I sterilize the grill before I put the steaks on.  If you’re one of those people who let’s your dog put his tongue up your nose during a 10 minute face bath right before you come to my house for dinner, I have one request.  Please don’t kiss me hello - a simple hug will do.

In return, I’ll be sure to offer a vegetarian option at every barbecue!

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