I know a number of my female readers have dealt with the whole issue of underwire bras. (for men who are unfamiliar, an underwire bra is sort of a cross between an erector set and fabric). Then, you've probably had the issue where at the point of highest stress, the underwire breaks, and pokes through the fabric. You're sitting there, all of your body parts content and happy and suddenly there's this sharp metal thing poking very delicate skin, to the point of drawing blood.
Many of us have been there. Discomboobulated.
Unfortunately, in this case, much of my laundry was down at the crash pad (where the washer and dryer are bigger) and I had no spare. And there was NO WAY I was venturing out on the morning of Black Friday to buy a new one.
Thank heavens for Duck Tape.
With that and tactical lip gloss (and wedgie free skivies) a gal can handle most anything life tosses her way.
Tactical Lip Gloss? Even Zeva has some of that.Yes THAT Zeva. NCIS is a guilty pleasure of mine, even though Ducky once described the injuries of a run over man as a broken "tibia and fibia". I think a "Fibia" is part of the jawbone of a politician, I've not seen one in a normal human body. But when you've only got an hour to save the planet, what's a little forensic goof. I still immensely enjoy the show.
On one episode, a young damsel is kidnapped from the watchful eye of the NCIS team who are protecting her as she knows a special secret. She's found hours and hours later in an old warehouse, duct taped to a chair, a big piece of duct tape across her mouth to stifle her cries, her brow damp, her shirt clinging to her in the intense heat and humidity. One of NCIS team goes after the bad guy and while one of them RIPPSSS the duct tape off of her mouth so she can speak.
Now, considering that it been stuck to her for hours, that would normally remove the lips themselves. But this is TV. Not only did it not appear to hurt her, her pink lip gloss was absolutely perfect. I mean absolutely flawless. It didn't fade, it didn't smear, despite hours of duct tape and heat. Midwest Chick and I had a long discussion on it, which included a comment in the ladies room at the Indianapolis Symphony as we reapplied our lip gloss. of "good but not duct tape proof" which several blue haired matrons about fainted over.
Look, I have my girly moments even though I own more guns than shoes. Face it, women in general pay a lot more attention to such things than men do. Probably because we grew up with Barbie who if she were a real live woman would be 6 foot 6, weigh about 98 pounds, (1/3 of which was her gravity defying chest) with a perfect hairdo that no real woman could get without enough hairspray to immobilize a Cape Buffalo.What's NOT to give a kid growing up a complex about such things as pouty lips and perfect hair when one has free range curly hair and grew up hoping there was a line of lipstick that came in .50 BMG brass.
Fortunately, I ditched Barbie and got some action figures instead. Action figures didn't have to look pretty, they just had to be able to DO stuff and be self confident. You would never expect G.I. Joe to say "does this M16 carbine make my butt look too big?" Barbie was soon retired, having lost an arm to an unpleasant Tattoo experience with the little soldering iron in the wood burner kit and a leg to a potato gun launch gone awry. She retired on disability in the Barbie FEMA house where she was soon forgotten for much cooler toys.
G.I. Joe was cool. He had only the accessories he needed. Plus he showed up in an action helicopter not a pink convertible.
For starters I'd just as soon buy a bunch of shooty accessories than more shoes. Look, you need shoes, they keep you from stepping on scorpions and spiders barefoot, and all. But frankly. I wouldn't notice another woman's shoes unless her feet were on fire. My closet contains five pairs, total, though I do sort of want these Browncoat looking ones.
I have about 6 suits, 3 are court-worthy. I also have some "it won't bother me to burn them" pants and shirts, a couple pairs of jeans and Irish sweaters and my favorite green cargo pants and black silk shirt.There's also my denim jacket. I live in the latter outfits.
But I do have a couple of "girly" outfits. There's a little black dress and one pretty little flowered number I bought because I hang out with someone that has occasion to dress up.
Apparently though, while I was living in the fashion dark ages, picking up just the occasional Tee-shirt and undies, sizes have changed. What used to be the size a thin girl wore, a size 8, is now a size 0. There's also not just women's clothes and men's clothes, there's junior and Missy's (which makes me think of John Wayne "well I tell ya little Missy"). Add to that designer label (which means if you're a size zero at Fashion Bug you're a negative integer at Ralph Lauren), petite and oh, thank goodness, woman's section, which I figured, worked, because I'm a woman. But no, that was a way of saying, "you're not shaped like a 2 x 4. Welcome to mumu land".
According to statisticians, I am the clothing size of the average American woman, in the size 12/14 range (14 if it's a shirt and I don't plan on wearing undergarments designed for assassination attempts). I've got 4 inches in height on the average American gal, but I'm curved like her. I will never be "fashionably thin" but I'm strong and I can go top speed all day, which you can't do on a piece of arugula and a rice cake.
But in a world where a woman with her ribs jutting out seems to be the ideal (which, I think, would be like sleeping with a bag of antlers), clothing designers still don't seem to get how real American women are built, and most of us ARE bigger than our lipstick.
(1) Just because I have an ample backside does not mean I'm shaped overall like a VW Beetle. I have booty. I also have a small waist. So why must you make jeans that fit my hips also so big around the waist and the legs (which are decent from 20 years of ballet and tap dancing), that after sitting in them for an hour, they SLOWWLY start sliding off my form.
There I was at Mountain of Geese, seeing what they had in the way of ammo, when the jeans started doing their little gravity dance and I was afraid I was going to be mistaken for one of those gangbangers that normally frequent Don's Guns. I hoped at least, that the briefs that were appearing were the proper degree of gansta cool. I had to sneak behind the ghilly suit display (no one will see me here!) and "adjust".
(2) Due to my. . er. . bust size, I often have to get a larger sized shirt. Designers? Just because I am bustier than the other size 14 gal, does NOT mean that my arms somehow grow extra long. Why is it if you go from a 12 to a 14 size shirt, suddenly the sleeves are 3 inches longer and you have to roll the cuffs up?
(4) If it's 90 degrees out, sleeveless would be nice. Apparently designers think all woman over 40 never work out and have arms like flying squirrels and the intent seems to be cover them up, and cover them up with voluminous fabric, even in smaller sizes. Looking at clothing for the yearly Christmas party, all of them of had these voluminous winged arms, so that when you held your arms up and out they draped in a straight line to the waist.
I could have jumped out of an airplane in any of them and flown to earth. When did the 2013 Christmas look become "Base Jumper". Actually, given all the sparkles on them it was "Base Jumper Elvis".
I looked like a thermometer.
All I could think of was "I wonder if this comes in cammo?"
I gave up, went home and put on my cargo pants and jean jacket.
Besides, I have enough to wear for the places I usually hang out.
