Boobies

Sorry, had to do it. I couldn't resist the urge to confuse whatever young, horny men might be tooling around the internet. There are times when I question my own maturity. But then I think "Nanny-nanny boo boo" and get on with it. (No, not nanny-nanny, boob-boob...but that would be pretty funny, too, wouldn't it?)

I think it was Phyllis Diller who made the comment that she once went to pick up her bra on the floor but realized as she bent down that her boobs were still in it. I'm not quite to point yet (although I can see it on the horizon...low on the horizon)...but I've definitely learned a lesson about keeping the girls locked and loaded. I was so distressed about the noro yesterday--it just didn't look right at all and I had my "might as well feed my yarn to the worms" moment because I couldn't believe I'd spent all that time knitting something that looked--to me, anyway--quite dreadful. Well, okay, yes--I COULD believe it, which is why I was so distraught. But I think I've mentioned my enviable collection of vintage bras, inherited from my mother on a recent trip, all of them incapable of giving even moral support, much less boobie support. I was wearing one of those gems yesterday and, when I really studied the photos, it finally dawned on me that no, the girls were definitely not located where I thought they ought to be--and, in fact, where I had thought they WERE. (Funnily enough, I rarely stare at my own chest.) So today I put on a bra that I purchased myself, in the right size and possessed of enough elastic and resiliancy to actually hold something up and then tried the sweater again. Le Voila--I LOVE the sweater.

Which led me to do two things. 1) I wore the sweater out while running errands and actually got a few compliments (and it is a sad statement about my own neurotic state that my first thought was "Gee...does it look homemade or something....?" I'm a dork, yes indeedy.) and 2) I gathered up all the old, sad, bra-ish things that my mother gave me and deposited them unceremoniously in the garbage can. There are about 14 or 15 of them; God alone knows that the garbage man will think we get up to around here. ("Were they cleaning up after some kind of kinky party? Getting rid of a collection of incriminating contraband? What??")

It is at least a little sad to realize that the girls can no longer hold their own. Oh, I know that being over 40 isn't so bad and I'm mostly enjoying it to no end. But no one ever told me the breathtaking speed at which the body can surrender to gravity (one might almost suspect a pact with the enemy). I mean, I went to bed one night with boobs that, if not perky, were at least able to enjoy scenery other than my shoes. The next morning, I had to look in my socks for them. And I was wearing the socks. I think they (we're back at the boobs here) just waited for me to fall asleep and then made a run for the border. Huh....I wonder if THAT'S why my grandma used to sleep in a bra....kind of corrall the suckers before they can make a getaway.

I read somewhere that the first bra was invented by a French woman who fashioned it out of two hankies. Clearly I was not related to this woman. Nature has been generous to us: any woman in my family who could hold up even one of the girls with two hankies was probably really a man with a bad case of wishful thinking.

Enough about my boobs, though. (My Dad occasionally reads my blog and I just know that he's clutching his eyes and shouting "She just wrote like a PAGE about her boobs!! My eyes! My eyes! Someone wash them out!" Or some such thing. ) The good news is that I love the sweater and no longer have to sit in the yard and feed my stash to the worms. Thankfully. I wouldn't want to be responsible for the choking of a yardful of worms and thus starving the birds. (I'm conveniently forgetting here that being part owner of Ed already makes me responsible for a certain drop in the bird population...as well as the mole population, the shrew population, and the vole population. And a few bats are pretty nervous.)

I haven't yet started another sweater, but I did face the truth that I am more likely to get perky boobs again that actually finish the Pomotamus socks, (love 'em, hate the pattern....I know it's awesome and it's just my own mental block...but I still quarantined the yarn so its bad attitude wouldn't infect the rest of the stash) and I started these:


Pretty Petals worked in Mountain Colors Bear Foot Huckleberry, really crappy picture (sadly, the best of about twelve. I'm not real great on either side of a camera, as it happens). I love these already. And my bra will make absolutely no difference to how they look.