Let's face it, as we age, gravity no longer remains a friend of ours.

Never really has been a friend to me because, well, i tend to drop things. If there was no gravity, that thing i just dropped would not fall to the floor and break or smash. Simple. It would just float about right at the place it slipped out of my hands and i would grab it and go on with life.

Let's go in another direction for a short period of time. The way back machine.

When i was developing, there was a mean, cruel little test some of the girls did to show how wonderfully perky their new boobies were becoming. Take a pencil, and place it underneath said boobie. If the pencil falls to the ground, then you had good boobs. If it stayed put, it was time to raise the arms to shoulder level and thrust the elbows backwards over and over again while chanting in a sing song, 'we must, we must, we must increase our bust, the bigger the better, the tighter the sweater, the more the boys depend on us!' At ages 9, 10 and 11, i failed that test. No amount of sing song chanting would help, either. Damn it.

Now, 30 years later, i would fail that test if i used a pack of 50 pencils.

Somewhat unrelated, i went bra shopping a few days ago. Another underwire snapped. Time to do some replacing.

The staff member i dealt with at the shop was tactful. Mellon shaped or tear drop shaped, she asked? Uhm, how about ironing board shaped? Got a bra for that?

Yesterday, i wore one of the 4 new bras i purchased. I decided on one of the more supportive models. And now, 16 hours later, my ribs feel bruised.