I admit to being somewhat jaded and, perchance, more loquacious about female support than many of my contemporaries. I trace this all back to Zela (my Grandmother) who constantly wore the “Jane Russell Playtex 18 Hour Iron Maiden”. It was much like the picture to the left, only hers went down to her calves.
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Not only did Zela wear this 100% of the time, she put it on in the morning and took it off (I assume) as she went to bed. Which meant, whenever she was in a hurry and didn’t want to mess up her "dress-up" outfit (like corralling everyone to church or getting everyone ready for dinner at Elmo’s) she wore only that 1 piece around the house. Being a large woman for most of her life, I have became accustomed the sight of a huffing, puffing, sweating mother hen yelling at us - as Playtex tried valiantly to confine her.
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Anyone that has worn one, or unexpectedly come around the corner to face one, can attest to its utter lack of sexuality. It is a marvel of rubber, zippers and possibly whalebone (this was all before spandex) – but the one thing it was not was erotic.
Anyone that has worn one, or unexpectedly come around the corner to face one, can attest to its utter lack of sexuality. It is a marvel of rubber, zippers and possibly whalebone (this was all before spandex) – but the one thing it was not was erotic.
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Among other important women in my life, my mother and Lynn come to mind, they both ensure proper support for the proper situation. Nothing as drastic as the Jane Russel 18 hour Tourture Chamber - but they don't need it.
Among other important women in my life, my mother and Lynn come to mind, they both ensure proper support for the proper situation. Nothing as drastic as the Jane Russel 18 hour Tourture Chamber - but they don't need it.
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Which brings me to this morning.
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So I am walking Trevor to “Pets At Play” because the maid comes today (she, by the way, changes at our house into leggings and a t-shirt to clean in – but that is neither here nor there).
On our walk, we approach 2 women – I assume mid-20s woman and her mother, power walking towards us. Both power walk in a dizzying fashion; arms and legs akimbo and spastically reaching in random fashion which presupposes no understanding of velocity nor entropy. Trevor and I stand aside to let the moving sideshow passing.
So I am walking Trevor to “Pets At Play” because the maid comes today (she, by the way, changes at our house into leggings and a t-shirt to clean in – but that is neither here nor there).
On our walk, we approach 2 women – I assume mid-20s woman and her mother, power walking towards us. Both power walk in a dizzying fashion; arms and legs akimbo and spastically reaching in random fashion which presupposes no understanding of velocity nor entropy. Trevor and I stand aside to let the moving sideshow passing.
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The younger woman has no discernible buubies (to quote the housewives of New Jersey). Mother, however, is rather endowed – and I think an unfortunate produce of the 1960s burn your bra movement. Her shirt looks as if it contains the entire cast of West Side Story doing the Jets and Sharks dance number. They circle each other back and forth, jabbing with knives at unexpected times. Trevor was, understandably, fascinated – it looked like she had a bag of cats in there.
The younger woman has no discernible buubies (to quote the housewives of New Jersey). Mother, however, is rather endowed – and I think an unfortunate produce of the 1960s burn your bra movement. Her shirt looks as if it contains the entire cast of West Side Story doing the Jets and Sharks dance number. They circle each other back and forth, jabbing with knives at unexpected times. Trevor was, understandably, fascinated – it looked like she had a bag of cats in there.
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And here is the wonder of the morning. I bite my tongue BEFORE I yelled to the daughter, “For God’s sake, buy your mother a sports bra!”
And here is the wonder of the morning. I bite my tongue BEFORE I yelled to the daughter, “For God’s sake, buy your mother a sports bra!”