A MOST UNSUITABLE BRA!

Let's talk about engineering achievements. Some things are not meant to exist, but they do, seemingly defying all natural laws.
That's the genius of engineering.

Some engineers are depraved.

Which is the only explanation I can come up with for that woman's brassiere.

No, this is NOT about Savage Kitten. Kindly get your mind out of the gutter.

[Note: Savage Kitten is my ex-girlfriend. A delightful woman. While I shall not go into detail about her undergarments, let me just say that I remember them as both sensible and in truly excellent taste. Very nice. That is all you need to know.]


I was outside the office building having a smoke when a woman stopped nearby to chat on her cell-phone. Her breasts poked straight out with far greater conviction than nature ever intended.
Her bra focused the mammaries erectly forward, pushed forth and rigidly uplifted, in a way that may have been meant to tempt the attention - and given how much of her cleavage was showing that is a logical supposition - but mostly served to highlight the geometric precision of a ninety degree angle.

The ninety degree angle is not really that common in nature.

I just couldn't look at them.

It hurt the eyes.

Mind you, I have spent considerable time contemplating breasts, as I am a middle-aged man and have had several years of adulthood to ponder such details. That's something men do when they hit a certain age. We are interested in structure.
We can't help it, we're spatially oriented.
Breasts, no matter their shape and dimension, are not supposed to jut out like an unsupported balcony. It just does not look right when you have to wonder what is holding those things up.

Please repeat after me: "breasts do not fly".

Back in the fifties, I am told, brassieres aimed for the missile-look, much like the twin-cones that Madonna made famous.
There may have been an ironic intent there, but nothing about that effect is normal.


"BREASTS DO NOT FLY!"


Even as a child I knew what a proper breast looked like. Not that I was particularly focused on them at that age, but I certainly knew what a breast was, and what one should resemble.

One of the songs I heard at my mother's knee was the Guantanamo song.

"Guantanamo City has hundreds of doors,
And each of them's filled with hundreds of whores;
They hang from the windows with stark-naked chests,
They bash out your brains with their low-hanging breasts."

I believe my mother might have learned this charming lullaby when she was in the Navy. There were several other tender ballads (Kafoozalem, A Sheikh of Araby, The Ring Dang Doo, The Winnipeg Whore, Barnacle Bill The Sailor, etcetera) that I knew before I ever hit my second digits.
Either it was the military environment, or the fact that she was in the English department at CAL.

"We'll sing of her praises and pray for the day, we blow the hell out of Guantanamo Bay."

See, a desire to cause explosions is what unwholesome mammary presentation does to people.
I'm convinced that all those illegal fireworks in my neighborhood over the weekend were because of glandular protraction and elevation.
People hurt themselves that way.


"BREASTS DO NOT FLY!"


The properly designed brassiere should cup and support, keeping the objects of their commission from moving around too much and getting irritated or strained. Too much friction on the nipple must be prevented, as must bruising of the softer tissues.
The closer the cup is to realistic contour and placement, the less damage and discomfort is likely. Normally, women have fairly harmonious curvature. Gentle arcs rather than protuberances and protruding beams.
Architecturally, bosoms are more like the graceful mosques of Mughal India than the sharp-edged Gothic cathedrals of mediaeval Europe.

Think of the gentle glowing dunes around the ancient oasis of Hawar, rather than the stark crags of the Scottish Highlands.

A breast should NEVER look like a rock formation.

I feel VERY strongly about this.


* * * * * *


I was actually planning to write a sensitive post calculated to lure in some nice demoiselle today, hoping that she might consider me an all-round interesting chap, well-worth knowing.
A gentle clean-minded girl, who would think well of me.
I'm afraid I rather got distracted.
This post sure ain't it.
Sorry.



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