Boobs On The Brain

Don’t think I didn’t notice that you all clicked on my other boobs post. What, were you too shy to comment? Don’t you worry though, because I’ve got boobs on the brain. Probably because I’m trying to buy a new bra. Trying being the operative word here.

You lady readers know what I’m talking about. You fellas? Well, trying to buy a new bra is similar to buying new socks in levels of tediousness. That is, if socks cost $72, each one fit differently, sizing was inconsistent, and sometimes, even after you think you’ve found the ideal comfortable sock, even then it doesn’t work under a t-shirt. Now, I don’t know what you are doing putting your t-shirts over your socks. That’s your business.

But so, I’ve now purchased (and returned) six bras in an effort to find one god damn bra. It doesn’t help matters that I’m currently injecting my body full of hormones. As anybody transitioning to female (or my fellow IVFers) can attest these hormones throw your top dimensions all out of whack. The situation has gotten to the point where my MOM commented on my boobs. I think that right there should remain exclusively an initial rite of womanhood, not to be repeated when 35. It usually happens when you are in your tweens/teens. Your mom or grandma or Auntie or mom’s best friend takes you aside and says “You need a good bra.”

“Welcome to womanhood, first lesson: everyone is now entitled to express their opinions about your body. Second lesson: you need a good bra.”

So far this is the only bra that I’ve found and liked:
Totally A Bra
What? You got something to say about my shopping technique? But you won’t, will you? Because this post is about boobs and bras, and everybody looks at these posts but few are comfortable commenting.

Grenade Goes BOom

Cartography Grenade Heart Pendant

What do you do when you’ve thrown a grenade into your relationship? Purchase matching grenade necklace and earrings? Shoot, I am the worst at problem solving.

grenade earrings

Let me warn all women against this small little RAGE side effect of Estradiol. I had an awful, terrible weekend, capped with one too many hormone pills that magnify and blow out of proportion all emotions. Remember that time I got so angry with my honey that I threw out all of our food? Same pills. The Incredible Hulk’s got nothing on my estradioled self. Anyways, I was terrible, just horrible yelling at my poor honey. But it takes two to tango, if you know what I mean.

Can I offer you this grenade bracelet to go with a big helping of crazy?
grenade

Fortunately we’re made up now. But hormones! They’re not for wimps!! (All my guys-in-a-relationship-with-a-lady followers are currently nodding their heads sagely going ‘YUP, I coulda told you that. And the sky is blue.’)