More Bra Nonsense

Okay, I recently had to buy some new bras. Every so often I can't put it off any longer, and I have to take the plunge. In an effort to make it less of an ordeal, I carefully read the measuring instructions, in order to find my 'correct' size.

I seldom see that much ridiculous nonsense in one place.

Band Size. When I was young, the instructions were, measure around the rib cage, up under the breasts, and then add 5 inches, if that gets you an even number, or up to 6 inches, to get to an even number. That was your 'band' size. I never understood why the manufacturers couldn't just use the actual measurement around the ribs as a woman's 'band size', but they didn't.

Since then, I've seen instructions that the woman should measure around her chest, up under her armpits and over her breasts. This number actually was her 'band size', even though it had nothing to do with the band that sits around her ribs. This measurement can change from minute to minute, too, as it is not actually measuring a straight line around a woman; it's considerably lower in the back than it is in front.

This time, I was told to measure my rib cage again, but I only needed to add 3 inches, up to 4. I don't mind them changing how they measure for a bra, but adding 3-4 inches doesn't make any more sense than adding 5-6.

Cup Size. The cup size – the letter component of a bra's size – is determined by how much larger is the measurement around the body at the fullest part of the breasts compared to the 'band size'. If the numbers are the same, you're a B cup; smaller and you're an A or AA; larger and you're a C, D…all the way up to H. The instructions for getting this measurement haven't changed: "Wearing a well-fitting bra, measure around…." What? If I had a bra that fit well, why wouldn't I just check the label to see what size it is? Seems a lot simpler than all this rigmarole.

And after all this, you still don't know what size you are. Because in the end, this time I ignored my results of following the instructions and ordered the same size I bought last time, even though it wasn't the size the instructions said I took. They fit just fine.

Not Dead Yet

For several years, men of A Certain Age have had access to chemical assistance to help them in their amorous dealings.

For several years, I have periodically mentioned to my physician that I had no amorous inclinations, something my husband found quite irritating. It's gotten to the point that it's rather irritating to me, also. There is no physical reason for my enjoyment of this activity (yes, sex – what did you think I was talking about?) to be so … limited.

So, where are the little blue pills, or little pink pills, or anything that might help me enjoy myself? So far as I can figure out, there's no such thing.

Why not?

Is it because men rule the world and women (and their lack of enjoyment of such pleasures) are unimportant? There are feminists who insist this is the case. I've tried to work my way past that type of thinking, that type of conspiracy belief, but in the back of my mind…

Is it because female biology is so much more complex than male biology? Yeah, right. Tell me another.

Whatever the reason, I want it fixed. I want to feel the same level of passion my husband is still capable of. Why should men have all the fun?

PS. This is NOT an invitation to tell me of your family recipe to 'cure' this problem, or the latest 'study' on what exercise or activity the couple should do. Believe me, the subject has been researched, instructions followed, and what didn't actually turn my stomach did absolutely no good. All men need is a little blue pill. It should be just as easy for women.

When Do I Become a Senior?

Becoming a Senior Citizen used to be a simple matter. At least, I assumed it did; I really didn't pay any attention, since I didn't figure it would affect me. My assumption was, when I retired from my job and began receiving a Social Security check, then I would officially be a senior citizen.

Well, I have retired; I do receive a pension check, but I am still a long way from applying for Social Security. Actually, I am looking at starting a new career, so even though I may have retired, I am far from spending my days sitting in the pasture. As I collect a few gray hairs, I find myself in a gray area of society.

Am I a Senior Citizen? Depends where I am. Some businesses considered me a Senior Citizen as soon as I turned 50. Others won't offer me any 'consideration' until I hit 65. It's embarrassing to go into a restaurant, see a sign that offers a discount to seniors, and have to ask, "What constitutes a senior for your business?" But I am on a fixed income right now, so I swallow my pride and ask. A few pennies here, a dime or two there … it adds up. Still, if I were a gung-ho conspiracy therorist, I'd be sure this is a deliberate attempt to belittle people who have the audacity to live past their 'prime.' Keep us off balance, keep us 'in our place'.

Frankly, I don't feel like a senior citizen. I didn't wake up on the day I turned 50 and tell myself, "Well, that's it, now I'm old." Yes, I have a few aches and pains; a couple medical conditions have become long-term. So what? Plenty of younger people have chronic medical problems, and they get along just fine. So when I get my new career off the ground, maybe I won't bother to ask for the senior discount. Or maybe I'm just so thrifty that I will.

As for those parking stalls near the store door marked 'For Senior Citizens', do I use them or not? Depends on how much I ache that day.

Bra Nonsense

Back in the 70s, some feminists went so far as to burn their bras. No longer would they submit to the shackles decreed by men!

Turns out, as many of us discovered as the years drifted by, bras actually serve a purpose, other than shackling women because men like them like that. They help combat the ravages of gravity and time, if worn correctly. Therein lies the rub, in more than one sense.

I'm going to guess that at least 95% of the bras manufactured follow the same old pattern: two straps that go straight over the shoulders, and the opening is in the back. I hate that pattern. Unless you are young and flexible – or don't mind asking for help getting dressed and undressed – that back opening is hard to negotiate. The straps fall off the shoulders, which means the bra is not doing its job. And the more a woman needs a bra (the bustier she is), the more those objections hold true. Some women develop deep indentations in their shoulders from where they've tightened those straps as much as they possibly can, trying to keep those straps from falling. My mom had those shoulder indentations.

I switched to front-closure bras a decade or more ago. Much easier to put on! But most of them are of the 'leisure' variety, meaning they aren't really intended to provide the support that is the reason for wearing bras in the first place. What gives with that? Oh, they do supply some light support, but for the full-figured gal, it isn't much. And if you aren't a full-figured gal, why bother with a bra at all?

I do wish the bra manufacturers would go back to the drawing board and try again. There is no reason why a bra that offers support can't be opened in the front. There is no reason why a bra's straps have to go straight up and over, which gives them leeway to slip out of position. There are plenty of other possibilities that would minimize that problem, if not eliminate it. But I suspect the general mentality of bra manufacturers is; it was good enough for mom, so it's good enough for today's women, too. Shame on them for being stuck in the mud.

Trying to Eat Right

When I was growing up, my mom fixed the typical American meal; meat, potatoes, vegetables, bread & butter and sometimes a dessert. Of course, back then, a fatty piece of meat was considered 'flavorful', potatoes were mashed using full-fat milk, vegetables were often flavored with bacon grease or butter, and desserts and snacks were just full of both fat and sugar. But at the time, it was considered a pretty healthy diet.

I got a little older, didn't climb trees and run around the block so much any more, and found that eating an entire big bag of chips at one sitting tended to increase my girth. So I tried to stop eating such large helpings, tried to educate myself about what was healthy eating. Things had changed when I wasn't looking. Bye bye to hot dogs, whole milk (2% was all the rage!) and bacon. If you were baking, you were supposed to substitute applesauce for half the butter. And that, apparently, was the new healthy diet.

Okay, more time passed. I had continued to put on weight, despite many attempts to 'exercise more'. My joints started to complain about the strain. What more could I do? I couldn't afford much of the really really lean meat, so meat became a 3-times-a-week luxury. All the fats I knew how to cook with were thrown out in favor of olive oil. Milk became skim milk. In an effort to fill my belly, to avoid all those desserts and snacks I wasn't supposed to have, I tended to have rice and pasta with my meals. Those weren't fatty, so it was okay, right?

Then I was diagnosed as 'pre-diabetic'. As I've learned how to 'adjust' my diet (yet again), everybody keeps telling me how simple this is. Really? You have just thrown out everything I ever knew how to cook. After a week of oatmeal, raw carrots and salad, tell me how to resist the temptation to actually EAT.

They keep changing the rules, but they never really give you a handbook on what you CAN eat, or how to cook it. Oh, they give you a couple sheets here and there, telling you what NOT to eat, but not how to cook (whatever's left) to make it into something you actually want to eat.