Editor’s Pick
NOVEMBER 23, 2010 7:07PM
You'll Have To Pry My Underwire From My Cold, Dead Ribcage
Image Source, for the truly ambitious do-it-yourselfer
Alright. That's it. I've had it.
I was relatively OK with slouching, shoeless, through the metal detector and hopping on one foot to put my slip-ons back on.
I was, if not thrilled, then at least half-assed fine with unpacking at the airport half of what I'd packed only an hour before, depositing my scary toothpaste and conditioner and potentially booby-trapped MacBook into their own separate bins.
I was willing to live with the possibility that a cute little souvenir statuette in the actual suitcase might cause a frazzled, overworked, jittery minmum wage securty screener to start pawing through my underwear.
But now they want women to stop wearing underwire bras to the airport?
The TSA is hereby cordially invited to bite me. I haven't owned a soft-cup bra since Cyndi Lauper was the Next Big Thing. It's not because I'm an uncooperative citizen. It's because, as the owner of what Hollywood scriptwriters call "bodacious ta-tas," I need an underwire.
There's a reason underwire bras make up 70% of bra sales--they do what a bra is supposed to do. Cross over. Lift. Separate. Prevent unholy amounts of bobble and bounce.
Underwires cinch onto the ribcage, where they stay put as though they were welded there until such a time as the (oh, shit...metal) clasps are undone, either by oneself, a very good friend, or (apparently, from today forward) a friendly same-sex security officer.
My everyday immobilizer. She wears it better than I do. I figure if my fellow passengers may get to see it soon, I might as well reveal it here.(All further bra images from the same site.)
Once the underwire is in place, everything above it is held captive in unforgiving fabric, helpless to make a break for it. (Unless the girls try to Go Over The Wall, which happens when some of us generously endowed gals try to wear demi-cups. Mr. Wonderful's Twin has taken to calling such attempted escapes "Shawshank" moments, and despite the fact that Tim Robbins actually went under the wall, I appreciate a subtle "Shawshank!" to let me know I need to double-check my containment. It's a lot classier than, "Hey, babe, your tits are falling out.")
All this is an attempt to explain why I refuse to buy some sad little stretchy-banded, unreinforced little thing, solely for travel. Because trust me...it will ride up to nipple-level after thirty minutes of wear.
My rack took one look at this pathetic little thing and laughed out loud.
Sure, I'd like to get on a plane. But I'd like to do so wearing one of the 15 or 20 bras I already own. Bras that deliver support that won't leave me wishing I could just place each drooping piece of sweatermeat into its very own own separate bin, thank you very much.
Also, I'd like to do it without donning something that shapes my breasts into...ammunition. I think this (wire-free) contraption would probably raise a few alarms at a checkpoint, regardless. Breasts shouldn't resemble rocket launchers. Unless you're on the set of Mad Men. But I digress.
Stand back! I've got twin assault weapons, and I ain't afraid to use 'em!
I suppose there's always the sport-bra option. But really? In addition to forfeiting my 4th Amendment right against unreasonable search and seizure as a condition of eating turkey with Mr. Wonderful's Twin's* family in Boise, I just can't bring myself to surrender my pride, too.
Just kill me.
Guys, you're not off the hook either. It's not JUST the over-the-shoulder-boulder-holder that's on a no-fly list.
Helpful experts also suggest wearing "tight pants," not loose, so forget about those triple-pleated khakis.
Sorry, dude. You could be carrying Roger Rabbit and an AK-47 in those. Come on over here, big boy, and let's have ourselves a hot enhanced pat-down...
They suggest wearing form-fitting shirts, not billowy mumus, oversized t-shirts, or bulky sweaters. Sorry about the beer-gut camouflage, but you may want to invest in a bike jersey that lets the nice agents see everything. And I mean EVERYTHING.
Oof. Sorry. That hurt me more than it hurt you. I had to search for the image.
They also suggest avoiding:
- metal buttons
- heavy jewelry
- cuff links
- lanyards
- bolo ties
- belt buckles
Everybody got that?
On the bright side, I guess we've finally caught up with Sci-Fi. Now we know why everybody in the future wears spandex jumpsuits.
There's apparently no other way to get through security at the goddamned space port.
*I think Mr. Wonderful's Twin needs a shorter nickname, without that awkward possessive. The suggestion box is open.
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Comments
[I'm hoping this is a glitch in America's history and not the middle of the final spiral down.] I miss Artsfish.
how about Mwint or Twirm?
Er.
:-)
And I call Storm. But I'm not going to dye my hair white. But I will start a tempest, tea pot optional.
Is anyone else out there thinking about going through the pat down and making orgasmic noises, heavy breathing, moans, a few loud, "O MY GODS!!!!" and "Yes! Yes!...More!!! YES!! Right There!!! Yes!!! Do IT! " like Meg Ryan in "When Harry Met Sally"...I think that would be a scream! I figure if we have to be mortified, let's mortify the TSA folks...and I am going to ask for an OPPOSITE sex patter downer!
Somewhat off topic here but anyways, hey even recently in an in-office dental procedure the sign said "No Under Wire Bras." What is this world coming too?
Let me also mention that the Facebook thread led to the fleeting idea of a bra-burning flashmob.
Or, fleshmob.
r
that line about breasts shouldnt look like rocketships reminds me of a famous bra that madonna wore, do you remember that one?
MWT looks like the beginning of a calendar...
Could you change it to something like Cool Guy? But that's got a whole different meaning. "Wonderful" evokes old-fashioned goodness.
Which leads me to Mr. Good. Seriously, that's my best offer. Take it or leave it.
(cool post as usual :)
OK, I'm leaving....
Good Man.
GM.
MGM.
Pain? You don't know pain until you've tried to quickstep in a lousy bra.
Meanwhile, everybody else, including my sistahs in chest-age....stand proud in your industrial trusses.
And I'm totally diggin' Lainey's new nickname for Mr. Wonderful's Twin. MGM. My Good Man.
I can get behind that.
Meanwhile, I'll just sit back and marvel that so far, no spam bots have encouraged anybody to buy crap from China.
IME, underwire bras only hurt if one is wearing the wrong size. Of course, we won't talk about how the larger of my two tends to prompt underwires to try to escape once in a while.
Bathing suits with no underwire and real support would be nice, too. Some of us like to do more than lie on a towel at the beach.
Just one question: aren't there plastic alternatives to the bra underwire (or is hard plastic forbidden too because you could stab someone with it!?).
If you're coming to Boise, hopefully you're prepared for our strange freeze, it seems we're trying to be Minnesota and going sub-zero.
The TSA agent that got me in October grabbed my underwire flying buttress and asked "What is this?" I was all like, "What do you think it is?" She felt all the way around the wires, both girls, and looked down my sleeve to make sure I couldn't whip the metal out and, I don't know, do something creative with it. I'd have had to pole vault over my cascading tatas at that point to carry out any violence and I am too lazy anyway to try. *sigh* This TSA dust-up is sure making for some funny reading...
How about this: Wear the bra, but when you get to the place where you send stuff thru x-ray, do that clever bra trick you ladies do ... pull in out of your sleeve (Ilove that trick!) ... send it thru, then put it back on the same way you took it off. Now that would be novel!
Or: When you're being patted down, make kissing sounds ... particularly when *she* gets into "no man's land." Or go, "oh, that feels good!" Should speed her right along ... or maybe not.
In my humble (and perverted) opinion, making fun of them will get you thru a lot faster than righteous indignation. We may not like the intrusion, but odds are they don't like it either. Or as Pretend Farmer [sorta] said, "Fuck em [if thay can't take a joke]!"
But the bra is great for wearing to MRI appointments.
But now they are going to start screwing with my khakis??? THOSE BASTARDS!
I figured out the problem and, since I knew this family of customers fairly well, I went in to the kitchen where they were all sitting and said that I needed to check out the women.
There were 4 of them at the table.
Well, I "checked them out" with my eyes while looking at their chests.
They asked what I was doing and, as I held up an underwire, I said, "I just needed to see if one of them was sagging as, this was stuck in the pump".
I got a good laugh and, they're still my customers.
It all makes sense now.
All those wonderful years when many babes wouldn't wear a bra at all sure come to mind. Actually, they never left my mind. It has gotten worse in the last 5 years. Now so many of the babes wear several things on top and have strap after strap hanging out of their clothing. Frankly, it's tough to sympathize.
Either don't wear a bra (and maybe get used to it) or wear a simple one for a couple of hours. Women got by without wearing a bra years ago. Now there obviously more of a need to do so.
As for the nickname, MW2?
(The nickname-pickin' will take me some time, I think, but there are many fine suggestions to choose from!)
I got my first underwire at age 14. I haven't had anything else since. I tried cast iron athletic bras, but they wouldn't stay in place. Bras that rely on elastic alone do not stay in place after about three wash and drys. So, I am dumbfounded by this ridiculous decision. I've flown wearing underwires my whole life. No aircraft has ever gone down because of my underwire, whereas unleashed these torpedoes could take down a tank. I have always loved travel, still do, minus the air travel part,which has been completely ruined. I don't understand the need to indiscriminately treat the entire populace as criminal.
I got a pat-down a year ago (before this latest round of nonsense) for committing the crime of flying in a (comfortable) full skirt and baggy sweater. The horrors! But take away my underwire and there will be blood.
I can get away with not wearing wires, but I have this massive titanium hip, so it's no use anyway. Plus, Homeland Security doesn't like my name, or rather, they don't like that I go by my middle name. I'm really Maria Sirenita Lake. My artificial joint card says "Sirenita." The credit card I bought my ticket with says "Sirenita." My driver's license says "Maria Sirenita." Homeland security doesn't like you to use your middle name, which us Latinos routinely do. In their tiny minds, if every piece of paper you have does not have your name written the same way, you are trying to pull something. I could be some other Sirenita.
So, between my underwires, my hip, and my name, I figure I'll be bundled straight from the security line to some internal interrogation cell, where I might even get to meet real security officers instead of the usual refugees from Burger King.
The package got seized along the way and re-routed through the FBI field office, then returned to sender. Took me six weeks to finally get my damn underwear.
I joked then that my tits are a threat to national security. Oh, those were more innocent times...
When I go home for Christmas in a few weeks, I plan on wearing a contraption I've named Helga (she's not unlike that beige rocketlauncher pictured above, only she's strapless, wired, boned, and much, much less forgiving). Also, as my brother and I have a long-standing tradition of, in honor of our "half-Jewishness," giving each other Judaica that's been cut in half, I plan on smuggling half a menorah in there and then calling in the ACLU when they try to take it away from me.
Rated!
T'Pol would approve!
funny, that's how I refer to my breasts! Ms. Wonderful, and Ms. Wonderful's Twin. And they'd growl at anyone who tried to touch the Underwire of Uplift and Beauty.