The world, the flesh, and BRAS

Bra manufacturers 47
Me zero
I am furious. Why should I re-build a bra that I paid for? Why am I getting e-mail from manufacturers who don't make my size?

I just have one question for you: what do you hate about bras!? Or do you always get just the right one? (Okay, I lied about the one question)
So: Are you willing to write a letter to a bra manufacturer? Or march on Washington or something?

I just sent some well-chosen words on one maker's web site (and also on the paper that goes back with the 39th returned bra.)

Let me know what you hate about bras, and want to do about it.

HIPS HAVE COME A LONG WAY, BABY

I figure it started in the caves. Despite the hassle of preparing mastadon dinner without fire, Cave Wife has developed a little junk in the trunk, so to speak. Cave Husband stops packing for his hunting trip long enough to point to her buns and snarl. He holds up a much bigger and stiffer animal skin and demands she put it on. Their pet saber-tooth, Sabey, snarls at him to get away from the wife. Cave guy smacks the tiger one and stomps out. A neighbor has heard the commotion and shows Wife how to fasten the tight skin with strips of sharpened bone. The word was out--no pudge, no jiggle.
No kidding.

For centuries, women complied. Not content with whalebone corsets, women even egged each other on to bite the bullet, or the stick, and have lower ribs removed to give them the perfect wasp waist. At least they didn't have to go to boring corporate parties until they healed. Botched rib-ectomies and changing styles led us back to the corset. It even filtered down to the middle classes. What a bear trying to get something out of the oven or the wringer wearing those whalebones.

WWII put many women in overalls and pipe wrenches. That pretty much guaranteed the decline of the corset. Luckily the hard work and the swing dancing kept us thin.

Then Lucille Ball arrives via TV, vacuuming in heels and a turbo waist cincher. We laughed. And we bought the Playtex girdle. NO bones, no laces, no air. A women with a bad back couldn't even pull one on. My boyfriend said in public that I should always wear a girdle. He was replaceable.

Spoiled, we demanded even more comfort, like the new control top pantyhose! We swore by them for years.

Now TV strikes again. We don't look like Sex and the City! All that rotten time in the gym didn't make us look like Top Models! Barefoot sandals, so no control tops. Jeans with almost no rise. We don't dare sit down. Muffin tops are scaring small children.

Again the manufacturers come to the rescue--with Spanx. No jiggle from chin to ankles. Back problems? A friendly orthpedic nurse helps you pull it on. No bones, no laces, no air. Free at last.

FACE WORK AND GROCERIES

The recent dental unpleasantness left me with a slightly unmatching left side of the face. Later, I'll probably preach about dentistry being in the stone age. And right now, any photo ops are right side only.

Meanwhile, I took a recipe from Nina Garcia's THE STYLE STRATEGY, and risked the honey facial. Perfect for multi-tasking while ironing, despite the danger of dripping on my work blouse, or someone coming to the door.

For years I'd thought groceries as cosmetics were funny. Then came the day I had to throw out my sunscreen-to-prevent-farmers-tan. It was announced worldwide as THE BAD SUNSCREEN. Gotta wonder what else in the medicine cabinet and the bedside table might be THE BAD CREAMS.

So into the honey pot. It did seem to ease the redness that made the doctor forbid wine for four weeks. It also made my cheeks kinda nice and soft (alas no one noticed but me.) Best of all, I didn't need a bowl scraper and trowel to get it off. You know how you don't dare touch your toast-with-honey or you'll stick to the tablecloth and even the table. But it washed right off.

Buoyed up by that success, I was ready to follow her advice and put the plain yoghurt on my T zone. (That's the middle of the face, guys.) The grocery didn't have individual plain yoghurts, so I didn't get to make my pores disappear. Maybe next week I'll get the big tub of plain, and foist the rest of it off on someone who would actually eat it.

JEANS SOLUTION? OR CRUEL HOAX?

Just ordered some "tall" size summer jeans from Spiegel's. Not the cut I like best, but they promise the torso is adjusted for tall. This should give me a long enough rise for my long torso. We'll see.

At least, when I shorten the legs, I'll have enough extra denim for a sofa.

SCARY MAMMOGRAM PHONE CALL -- MORE

I finally tracked down a woman from patient relations at St. Joseph Med. Ctr., Burbank. It took a lot of detective work, since I found no phone number on the web site. Twice now I accidentally wrote customer relations. Actually, that’s perfectly reasonable since a friend taught me that in medical matters, I am the customer. Just look at the bills for my insurance.

The call turned out to be wonderfully validating and comforting. The woman listened better than I usually do. She admitted (how refreshing) that the scary call and the rest should not have happened. At the end, she assured me that she would pass the entire scenario to the head of the mammography center. When I told her I had blogged about this, she asked to read HENBACKTALK.

I reminded her that I want to reward the tech I met at the return visit. That person explained about older women’s breast tissue and why more films were needed. She would be a great person to train whoever calls women for follow up.

This was a big step for me. I am not good on the phone when it’s something personal, or something medical. I forget part of what I need to say.

Days later: a woman from the mammography unit did call me. She said she had taken action with the person who does telephone callbacks and with the radiologist. She reminded me that they also send a letter to my primary physician. She said patients could ask to talk to another person during the initial phone call. I assured her that on hearing the words “they found” a patient can basically go into shock and forget to talk to more people.

We did not enjoy each other’s tones of voice on this call. I felt that I was hearing justification. Finally she did assure me that no one would receive any more calls like I one that scared me, and she ended the call.

If you can possibly find it, I recommend How to Cope with Your Doctor. Bernard Virshup, M.D., Praxis Press.

Please tell us your experience or adventure complaining about anything medical.

BEYOND TWILIGHT

Okay, Twilight is not the whole story of women and love. I just thought it was the key fantasy of the girl inside us, ever hopeful.

Somewhere along in there I stumbled into books by two women (and a man) who tell the day-to-day marching that follows when an amazingly brave woman reaches for what she wants and it turns out to be for life.

Since my own marriage left me with more questions than answers, I grab onto every sentence in these three books that gives me clues to the question with no answer—what makes love last? And how do you get through the yucky times that one self-help team called Stage Two? (As in after the honeymoon is over.) How do you get to the part where the smiling old couple stroll slowly holding hands?

Actually I don’t stumblepon Jill Robinson’s books—I search for them. And in case you need a rating let me mention that Falling In Love When You Thought You Were Through has mysteriously disappeared! (Moral—don’t leave anything valuable on the table when you go to the ladies’ room.)

THE SUM OF OUR DAYS remembers Willie’s traveling to meet Isabelle Allende. Then, to be brief, she just plain followed him home. And the love story was still going on when I bought the book. She does tell things I had never heard of to make a family well and strong—she and her son even went to counseling and signed an agreement of acceptable behavior. That’s what I mean about the day-to-day.

And of course there were tough tests in the long romance that started with Jill Robinson asking to borrow a cigarette, and lasted through marriage. Tests like Jill’s moving to another country. And the big test for both of them that led to writing Past Forgetting.

I’ll probably never marry again, but I was hungry for what has made it work for some couples.

Falling in Love When You Thought You Were Through, a memoir written with Stuart Shaw (HarperCollins, 2002)Past Forgetting, a memoir (HarperCollins, 1999
The Sum of Our Days, 2008. (English translation, Harper Collins)

THE BEST MOTHER'S DAY GIFT

This is hard to write. And like some other blogs, I expect to make somebody mad.

Jewelry can be nice, if you know the person’s current tastes. I even give myself some, though not the kind that would put me through graduate school or even traffic school. Being taken to lunch is nice, especially if the host doesn’t look at his watch mid-entree. Candy is nice, in small amounts with no comments about calories. I don’t even know if they make gift hankies anymore.

What I really like is something that lasts my whole life. Respect.

I guess most people are sure they respect their mothers. Do they? Here are some clues. Sentences that start with “You won’t. . .” are rarely respectful. Jokes about Mom’s fiber supplement are ugly. “You’re not allowed to eat that.” That’s a thing you say to a three-year-old. Here are some others.

“I’m taking you to my doctor.”

“ A boyfriend at your age? Don’t be silly.”

“Watch out (grabbing Mom’s arm) there’s someone behind you.” The person behind Mom is probably grown up and capable of saying “Pardon me.”

What you just said to Mom-- Would you say it to your boss? To Cathy Bates? To Bionce?

I love sentences that start with “May I . . .” and “Would you like . . .?”

I remember the Happy Days episode when Fonzie decided his grandma was senile. She set him straight with a few demonstrations like what it’s like to have arthritis (pebbles in his shoe.) Her bird that Fonz thought was imaginary flew in. I don’t remember the rest , but I think it deserved an award.

A good thing to call mom is Mom or Mother, no matter how many grandchildren she has.

How many people call Mom when it’s not Mother’s Day, and ask her if she’s having fun? Do the kids want to get to know her? Ever ask Mom her opinion, and not tell her why she’s wrong? Tell her you love her, before she tells you?

My daughter, seeing so many doctors and dentists on my calendar, urged me to give myself a break from that stress by telling the docs I need a little slack on the appointment schedule. That was a gift.