...it’s ugly

To me,
An internote[1] that I was spammed begins, “It’s great to be a woman because men’s underwear has no deceptive powers.” …well, I laughed. T.

To penetrate my witless mind, oblique references usually have to do the flamenco atop my head, but this time I think I got it!

This internote refers to the delusions perpetuated by brassieres and infers that men are the reason that women have to run around in falsies, advertising anyway. I don’t know of anything that confuses women as easily as the elementary food source confounds men.

It’s possible that I may have missed the boat entirely on this issue, because I’ve noticed that as women everywhere are leaning forward to shake themselves into their bras, I am only wearing one to identify the direction that I’m headed—to decide whether I’m coming or going. (It makes life so much easier when I can just glance down.)

To all my fam,
I’m thinking of ordering a custom bra from a covert military magazine. In addition to a compass, I’ve opted for adding the GPS feature,[2] the optional listening device, and the elusive front closure.
Anyone else interested? Let me know, ‘cause I could get a volume discount. T.

I do not purposely set out to misrepresent anything, but in order to achieve my objective, (to accurately determine my direction) I am forced to wear a slightly exaggerated size. But, I am not alone; it seems that sixty percent of Americans are also wearing bras that don’t fit.[3] I had no idea so many other female persons are also lost!

As a member of such a high focus group, I feel that I’m qualified to state that sixty percent of all bras are misfits because they have been manufactured to fit a species other than women. I know because I’ve tried them all!

To me,
Did you know many women are forced to put their bra on backward to clasp and then jerk it around front to back? This is because as we age, it becomes impossible to reach around to the middle of the back to the fastener?

Not you yet? Just wait. Why don’t we insist on front fasteners? Or do what I do and continue to wear it backwards. Always thinking! T.

I do use mine primarily as a compass, (wouldn’t it be great if a bra really did beep as I turned due north) and so size and fit are really irrelevant.

And don’t talk to me about implants, I’m already unrecognizable in the mirror. Besides, I’m not about to change my shape as that would guarantee flat as the latest upcoming fashion! (Ya’ll can thank me later.)

This is because I’m prefad[4]. I bring in the trend, preempt it and make it happen! I’m prehip, prediva, and prefabulous.

Reality Bite: Prehysterical too.

[1] Wordsmith! I expect this one will grow as big as the net.
[2] Global positioning satellite
[3] Another fascinating statistic from Oprah!
[4] Ha! And you thought I would forget to explain. Oh, I already discussed this? And it’s detailed again in Book One? Oh.

…what must come down

Unlike the stockmarket, life’s downswings are easy to predict. I forecast the inevitable downturn, just as the innocent and happy ascent begins. If we were true to ourselves, we would acknowledge that bright and happy moments are sick and sad portends of things to come.

It's true. Physicists, economists and eternal pessimists all know the unmitigated truth to life: What goes up, must come down.

To me:
I can tell if it’s going to be a good day by the dawn. If the early morning writing goes badly then there is no way to go but up, and in that case, I’m all for putting in my two torturous hours of typing and then abandoning it. A bad day of writing means the whole rest of the world is beautiful.

That’s my rationale for spending a whole day writing on my good days. I recognize that if I’m on a roll, I should just stay at it and ignore the whole terrible disaster that threatens around me.
Go figure. Terina