Gravity

Global warming, el niño, la niña, blah blah blah. I’m beyond tired of hearing about it. Our local global warming proponents shut up for a while last winter when the Richmond area had about 3 feet of snow – a good 2 feet more than our average. Now, with the hottest summer on record, these same folks are jumping up and down and making a lot of noise again. OK, I get it, but what I really want to know is, when will someone call attention to the fact that the earth’s gravitational pull has gotten much stronger over the last, say, 4 years? It has, I swear it. What’s that you say? You need proof? Ok, if the gravitational pull has remained constant for the last 4 years then why haven’t I been able to find a decent bra?

I’m serious about this. For the last 4 years or so, I’ve been complaining about my boobs. My husband thinks I’m nuts, thinks everything is hunky-dory, but he’s a guy and guys are predisposed to think that boobs are great, especially when they get a fairly regular opportunity to have a personal acquaintance with said boobs. Let me tell you, though, from my constant acquaintance with said boobs, something ain’t right and that something can only be caused by gravity.

Now, I’m not about to say that the greatest pair of boobs in the world is gone forever, destroyed by an unspoken natural catastrophe. They were never great but they were good. They looked pretty cozy under a sweater, decent in nothing but a bra, and truly sexy in the favored-by-all-women posture: lying down, arms up overhead. And then they were struck down…literally…by this whole gravity thing that nobody talks about.

I may be the only one talking about the increase in global gravity but I’m not the only one who notices it. Bra manufacturers have steadily increased the amount of technology they use in their design and production. Over the years, Victoria’s Secret has gone from offering less-trashy versions of Frederick’s of Hollywood stuff to the spill-you-over-the-top Miracle Bra to their latest invention, the BioFit bra that offers cup-size-specific shelf support. Other bra manufacturers are relying on your own body heat to mold the cups into the ultimate fit for your boobs. Sounds like the Grauman’s Chinese Theater method – casting your boobs in nylon and spandex instead of concrete. Why all the innovation if there isn’t an underlying epidemic from the effects of increased gravity? Hey, technology – guess what? It still ain’t working.

Every bra I have tried, every last one, has failed me in one way or another. I’ve lifted and lugged and adjusted straps to the point that I’m gouging wedges out of each shoulder. I’ve been measured and poked and had my band snapped more often than junior high school. I’ve returned more bras than I own and I own more bras than Dolly Parton. I’m a prisoner to my underwear. I put it on in the morning and I swear I feel it strapped around me every moment of the day, poking me here or gaping open there, reminding me that I’m trapped inside of it. I’m more likely to peel my bra off in the car, in traffic, on the way home from work than I am to kick my 3-inch heels off my feet.

I am a trouper, though. I keep trying, hoping that someone has found a solution to the problem. Alternatives showed up when the world recognized that aerosol sprays contribute to the deterioration of the ozone layer so I figure that, someday, somewhere, somebody will figure out how to counteract the gravity problem and stitch up a bra that works. I ventured out again, just last week, and put my gravitationally challenged boobs in the hands of a “Fit Stylist” at Soma. It was a bit unnerving – Soma is part of Chico’s, the clothing company that doesn’t even use real sizes and there I was, shopping for something so exacting as to be ridiculous or even lethal if you fudge the numbers. The Fit Stylist was nice, though, measured the hell out of me, and spent a good bit of time talking to me about potential corrective actions; a good start for me, I’m all about root cause analysis, causal factors, and engineering errors out of a system. Then she started bringing me bras to try on and checking their fit once they were on – snap! In the end, I bought two bras that, while they’re not perfect, they’re pretty good. I’m doing as my Fit Stylist suggested – I’m wearing them and trying to get used to them. I think of it as breaking them in, kind of, like you would do with a new car. I’m driving them gently. And, as one tends to do with a new car, I’m checking myself out in the mirror frequently. I look down sometimes and wonder, “Who is that riding around in that shiny new vehicle?” My husband has decided that the new seats are “pretty firm” but he doesn’t mind because he’s a guy; I’m wondering if Soma and Tupperware have some kind of interlocking directorate.

In the end, I imagine that these bras will end up just as annoying as all the rest in my collection. It won’t be their fault, nor will it be the fault of my incorrect boobs, which, incidentally, I could have surgically altered for about $6,000, but I’d rather have a new stove and a new kitchen floor first. The real problem is caused by the annual increase in gravity and, until Al Gore responds to my urgent pleas, I’ll be spending my drive home with the top down, my seat reclined, and my arms up over my head. Unfortunately, I hear we’re in for another rough winter.