women stuff

If the Bra Fits. . .

I lack knowledge in certain areas.

For instance, I’m 98 percent certain that I am not wearing the right bra size.

I think I was fitted for a bra at one point, but I lack any memory of it. It’s possible I had a  stroke during the experience because at 13, everything was mortifying.

Speaker7 would you like more brocolli?

Oh my god, mom!! You’re totally embarrassing me right now!!!!

I think I wore the right bra size the majority of my developed-breast life because I never thought much about it.

But now? Shit seems wrong.

I’ve never been a big woman. My bra size was near the beginning of the alphabet, and I had to rely on my wit and Cher impression to attract men.

My breasts went through a bit of change when I was creating that human in my womb three-plus years ago. One of them got comically bigger than the other during the whole mom-is-cow phase. The bigger one was like a factory farm. The other was like “pffftttt….what’s on TV?”

They both deflated down to what I thought was my normal size when my son began to use his few teeth and I decided the bottle was best.

But all my old bras feel like torture devices.

I tried the “genie bra” but stuck that back into the bottle.

I thought I had some kind of hernia. I would struggle up into a sitting position and feel like I had hooked my rib cage onto some barbed wire.

I told my doctor about this and he diagnosed me with a bum gall bladder.

Turned out he was right, but even sans gall bladder I still get this weird rib sensation that makes me feel like I consumed a McRib. It becomes allievated once I remove my over-the-shoulder-flabby-pebble holder.

I feel at 40, I should be able to get a handle on this situation. I mean, I barely comb my hair anymore when I go out in public…yet dealing with my breasts make me revert to my awkward braces-on-teeth 13-year-old self.

Maybe I need to remove another organ?

Speaker7 is wearing a bra while she writes a post every day as part of the Nano Poblano Team. The bra is pretty uncomfortable. 

Yahoo! Shit

Because I am a lady living a lady’s lifestyle with my lady brain, I read Yahoo! Shine religiously.*

For the uninitiated, Yahoo Shine is an especially shiny part of Yahoo that shines the light on the stuff that womenfolk care about like fat cells and man-trapping.

Before I began reading, I thought the key to trapping a man was stuffing him in the folds of my fat, but Yahoo! Shine pointed me in the right direction.


In the Yahoo! Shine world, life is like an episode of According to Jim combined with a Cathy comic strip. It’s that good.**

For instance did you know that there are seven questions every guy wishes you’d ask him? Seriously. Every fucking guy in the whole world, and that includes the Ayatollah Khomeini, Ryan Seacrest and Hitler’s corpse. So do the guys a favor, ladies, and ask them these questions today.

1. Question 1

The first one has to do with our weight because that is a complex that is ingrained in   every gal’s DNA. I distinctly remember at three months telling my mom to cool it on the formula because I was getting a serious case of thunder thighs.


Now gals instead of asking “Societal expectations of women’s bodies were created by a fucking crazy person so therefore I’m asking this question because this has been beaten into my head with a claw hammer, and that’s why I’m planking by the dinner table rather than eating so to make a long story short….do I look fat?” you should ask “Sweetie, what do I look best in?” This is obviously your guy’s decision because you need to concentrate on reducing your vaginal fat.

2. Oh my god fellas, don’t them ladies like to yammer after you’ve done stuck your Excalibur in them? Just talk talk talk talk talk…wouldn’t it be great if they would just act like the objects they are and shut the fuck up? So basically the question EVERY guy, including Papa Smurf, wants to hear is “Do you mind if we just lie here and not talk?”


3. Every guy loves sports. Every goddamn one. If your guy doesn’t than he must immediately turn in his guy card and become a woman or a shrub, it’s his pick because the third question every guy–and I mean every guy even Bashar al-Assad–wants to hear is “I have some tickets to some sporting event where guys bash into one another so hard they get concussions that later lead to lasting brain damage, do you want to go?”


4. Ladies, for god’s sakes, I hope you are not even thinking about expressing your interests because that is about as enticing as genital freezer burn. The menfolk and I mean every manfolk including the Dalai Lama wants you to ask “Oooh I’m into only your shit and because you’re a guy it’s either a movie with explosions or a movie with boobs or a movie with exploding boobs so do you want to see that Katy Perry documentary?”


7. I think we’re at question 7 because I am female after all and do not know math. So this one has all to do with the one with the vagina leaving with all the rugrats that came out of said vagina and the man free to do his man things in his man cave like measure his penis and discover fire. The question is something like “Hey can I pack up the kids and leave and you can reenact some Fatal Attraction fantasy only without the boiled rabbit?”



*This is only true when I’m participating in NaBloWriMo and run out of things to write about after day 2.

**At this point, after writing for seven consecutive days in a row, I no longer know what words mean. “Good” means “shit sandwich”, right?

Even though she knows this is a turn-off, Speaker7 wants to know if she looks fat while writing this post. Speaker7 is writing daily during this month as part of the Nano Poblano team.