Lingerie PSA
I’m getting on the bandwagon with Oprah and pretty much everyone else to tell you that you’re probably wearing the wrong bra size.
Even if you’re a man. Especially if you’re a man.
I don’t know why, but bra sizing makes no sense whatsoever, and for years the bras I’ve worn have always felt just a little bit off. The band would ride up in back, little bumps of flesh would stick up over the tops of the cups. Just little annoyances that were pretty easy to ignore. But since I’m visiting my parents and had nothing better to do today, I went and got fitted.
And lo! I discovered I am not a 36D, nor a 38C, but a 36DD or DDD! Insanity! My rack is humongous!
Except it’s not, it looks pretty average. But whatevs.
It was kind of awkward being naked from the waist up with the nice fitting lady (which is kind of silly, given my work history) in a little room that looked for all the world like my mother decorated it, but I totally got over it and got measured and tried on hella bras, and I even bought one. Then I went to Title 9 and bought a sports bra. Hooray for commerce!
I’m a little annoyed that I don’t wear a standard size, which will make bra shopping more difficult and expensive. But at least now I feel slightly vindicated in wanting to chop them off altogether.
So if you’re a lady, go get your rack measured. If you’re a gentleman, stop wearing bras. Pervert.
Porn for Women
From Chronicle Books, via Violet Blue’s blog.
The Cambridge Women’s Pornography Cooperative asked women, young, old, rich, and poor, “What really, really gets you hot?” Armed with their findings, they worked day and night to create Porn for Women.
Haw haw, GEDDIT? Women get off on seeing men do household chores!
Doesn’t this fundamentally fall in the same realm as advertisements that suggest women like, say, chocolate more than sex? Or that flowery-smelling shampoos and conditioners provoke an orgasmic response? Because, after all, women don’t really like actual sex all that much, and usually we just do it as a favor for our mens. I mean, I don’t know about you, girlfriend, but if mine wasn’t always pestering me, I’d just as soon settle down on the couch with a gallon of ice cream and some nice lotion to watch Oprah.
Oh, wait. I don’t have a tv. Or a couch, for that matter.
I get that the burden of housework, cooking, and child care still falls disproportionately on women, and that it’s easier to want sex when you’re not preoccupied with crappy drudge-work. But this kind of thing perpetuates the idea that women just aren’t that into sex, and for all the articles in women’s magazines on how to ‘do it’ better, people buy into this in a big way. Which creates a disincentive for women and their partners to have sex that is satisfying to the women involved.
Have I stopped making sense yet? Mostly it just feels tired and lazy. Novelty greeting card humor. Meh.
Just to give you an idea of what vile disgusting creeps we are here at Vulpture, Inc.
The other day I was about to remove my DivaCup* (which is so what I naturally want to call a piece of silicone that I jam up my vagina to catch my menstrual flow), and D was all angling his head as if to get a better view. So I was all, “What? You wanna watch, ho?” And he was all, “Yeah!” And I was all, “Ewww, gross, no way!”
Dot. Dot, dot.
“Well. OK. Twenty bucks.”
And he was all, “Awesome!”
I didn’t actually make him pay (or even ask for) $20. But I should have. Next time.
*I totally love the names given to feminine hygiene products, especially the alternative brands. I mean, DivaCup? Luna Pads? For reals?
