Mammary Madness
Sigh! People . . . I am so disappointed in you.
After thoroughly discussing the topic of appropriate attire in a previous article, I optimistically hoped that the denizens of Sedona would end up sporting a more tasteful approach to summer fashion. However, after a recent stint gad-abouting around town, I now find that I must summon my inner lecturing nun and rehash this topic with more verbal force and, unfortunately, to make my point, more graphic descriptions than may besuitable for a family column.
What, you might ask, has me clutching at my chest barely able to contain my indignation? Alas, my dismay stems from summer attire–or the lack of it–specifically: tank tops and braless wonders. Since Janet Jackson and Justin Timberlake’s titillating display during the Super Bowl, America has been gripped by mammary madness and is exposing as much flesh as acceptable by law or television. Even though most of us should not unshroud any body part above the knees, there seems to be a national obsession with displaying flesh that is better left hidden.
Sedona seems to be following the national trend. Citizens here are exposingmore boobs than the Richard Clark hearings. You’d think the furor over Janet’s pathetic C-cup excuse at exposure would have anyone thinking twice about wearing a tank top or going braless; like Custer at the last stand, your assessment of the situation would be dead wrong!
Let’s getsomething straight right now: a bra is not an optional piece of equipment–EVER. I was in an office supply store looking for a new computer monitor. While meandering up and down the camera aisle, making my way to the computer section, I ran into Bertha Bubba Bust. Right next to and competing with the new Nikon cameras was a mountain man’s dream woman. The dentally challenged lady was ignorant of the commotion she was causing as she enthusiastically discussed digital cameras with the ogling and totally mesmerized salesclerk.
The lady, using the term loosely, was sporting a grungy, beige t-shirt, which was straining and working overtime to bind what clearly wanted to be unleashed. The war between the flimsy material and her size 52-D chest will be go down in history like Lee’s Battle of Gettysburg, one of the great battles valiantly fought but, nevertheless, lost.
To make matters worse, our damsel of D-cup display was not wearing anything underneath this shirt, not even a whisper of a chemise. This peep show was not a Kodak moment, let me tell you! Let me tactfully put it this way, her shirt was losing the battle to keep her strapped in as her chest got to the checkout line before the rest of her.
Rule number one: unless you have been a recent contestant on a reality TV make-over show or have utilized the same services provided by the plastic surgeon who supplied Pamela Anderson, wear support gear. Support gear is defined as anything that straps you in and keeps you from being a public health nuisance or lethal weapon. The world should not be subjected to drooping mounds of un-bound flesh swaying around endangering sensitive, electronic equipment.
My neighbor, Candy, whose bonbons rival Fannie Farmer’s, is an example of she who is busting out all over. Like her shopping counterpart, Candy tends to wear small, revealing clothing. She’d make a blind man do a double-take. Recently, she wore her pale yellow tank top, flying solo, to a neighborhood gathering. Her flouncy, leave-nothing-to-the-imagination appearance caused such a commotion at the block party that neighbors have decided to cancel the Christmas gathering for fear that our lady of too much mamma will give new meaning to Jingle Bells or Deck the Halls.
Men, too, are not exempt from wearing chest containers of some sort if the physique cries out for it. Take those fishnet tank tops so many of them parade in. I saw one jogger, sporting a mesh tank top, whose pectorals were going south while he was running north. His chest in this ridiculous mesh top looked as if it were packed with two masses of quivering jellyfish. My advice: Spandex. It will flatten you out and will leave no doubt that you are of the male persuasion.
What’s to be done about this udder display? Since the city government of Sedona seems to excel at creating committees to study real and imaginary problems of all ilks, I suggest they establish a group to study this d’colletage phenomenon and how to harness it in. Or better yet, ADOT may want to have another series of charrettes, titled Mammary Management Planning, to discuss how the conflicting mountain views affect 179. After all, the red rocks should not have to compete with other peaks.
