Victoria's Secret is having its semi-annual sale, right across the mall from the Apple store where Girlfriend and I had to see a genius over another manuscript which went missing but retained the title. (We are creative in our screw-ups.)
Genius-John was at Macworld. Substitute-Genius couldn't find it. It is somewhere in the bowels of Girlfriend but is not revealing itself to me.
I buy lingerie like a guy would if guys bought lingerie. I hate to try on bras so I wear the same style in various colors until they stop making it. That way, I can just grab a handful and head right for the cashier.
These days my choices are limited. Nearly every bra available is padded so that we (presumably) have an entire population of women sporting huge bazongas which, however, are not made of flesh but of fiberfill or down or whatever they use. Some of them could easily double for life rafts.
Even the many women who have had implants are apparently wearing lined bras. "Lined" is the euphemism for "padded." When I was a teen, they were called "falsies." We've come a long way, baby.
I guess people who date take for granted that what they see is not usually what they will get.
Proportion seems to be missing from the aesthetic. I weigh about 100 pounds and am small-boned. If I had bigger mammaries than I do, I would have to walk on all-fours. Perhaps I would be pushing a wheelbarrow to support them.
Even the supermodels, who are all within an inch of their lives anorexic, have huge boobs. Are we really supposed to believe that women without an ounce of fat on them anywhere are somehow capable of growing those enormous chest mountains?
And why is it so important to create this illusion?
Of course I get that breasts are sexy. Ask any milk-sotted baby. What I don't understand is why women want breasts to be their first line of defense, the part everyone sees the second they enter a room.
I like mine. I do. I am also fond of my arms and legs and all the parts that together make up my physical body. But I prefer that people see my face first because that is the playing field of my emotions while my breasts register very little other than "we're cold." They are one-trick ponies.
Somewhere in outer space, extraterrestrials have nicknamed our planet "Land of Great-Uddered Beings." And they're laughing.
You would think that the one unpadded bra Victoria's Secret makes would be on sale since it is clearly unpopular, but in their infinite wisdom, it is not.
I bought flannel pajama bottoms instead.
