Alright. That's it. I've had it.
I was relatively OK with slouching, shoeless, through the metal detector and hopping on one foot to put my slip-ons back on.
I was, if not thrilled, then at least half-assed fine with unpacking at the airport half of what I'd packed only an hour before, depositing my scary toothpaste and conditioner and potentially booby-trapped MacBook into their own separate bins.
I was willing to live with the possibility that a cute little souvenir statuette in the actual suitcase might cause a frazzled, overworked, jittery minmum wage securty screener to start pawing through my underwear.
But now they want women to stop wearing underwire bras
to the airport?
The TSA is hereby cordially invited to bite me. I haven't owned a soft-cup bra since Cyndi Lauper was the Next Big Thing. It's not because I'm an uncooperative citizen. It's because, as the owner of what Hollywood scriptwriters call "bodacious ta-tas," I need an underwire.
There's a reason underwire bras make up 70% of bra sales
--they do what a bra is supposed to do. Cross over. Lift. Separate. Prevent unholy amounts of bobble and bounce.
Underwires cinch onto the ribcage, where they stay put as though they were welded there until such a time as the (oh, shit...metal) clasps are undone, either by oneself, a very good friend, or (apparently, from today forward) a friendly same-sex security officer.
My everyday immobilizer. She wears it better than I do. I figure if my fellow passengers may get to see it soon, I might as well reveal it here.(All further bra images from the same site.)
Once the underwire is in place, everything above it is held captive in unforgiving fabric, helpless to make a break for it. (Unless the girls try to Go Over The Wall, which happens when some of us generously endowed gals try to wear demi-cups. Mr. Wonderful's Twin has taken to calling such attempted escapes "Shawshank" moments, and despite the fact that Tim Robbins actually went under the wall, I appreciate a subtle "Shawshank!" to let me know I need to double-check my containment. It's a lot classier than, "Hey, babe, your tits are falling out.")
All this is an attempt to explain why I refuse to buy some sad little stretchy-banded, unreinforced little thing, solely for travel. Because trust me...it will ride up to nipple-level after thirty minutes of wear.
My rack took one look at this pathetic little thing and laughed out loud.
Sure, I'd like to get on a plane. But I'd like to do so wearing one of the 15 or 20 bras I already own. Bras that deliver support that won't leave me wishing I could just place each drooping piece of sweatermeat into its very own own separate bin, thank you very much.
Also, I'd like to do it without donning something that shapes my breasts into...ammunition. I think this (wire-free) contraption would probably raise a few alarms at a checkpoint, regardless. Breasts shouldn't resemble rocket launchers. Unless you're on the set of Mad Men. But I digress.
Stand back! I've got twin assault weapons, and I ain't afraid to use 'em!
I suppose there's always the sport-bra option. But really? In addition to forfeiting my 4th Amendment right against unreasonable search and seizure as a condition of eating turkey with Mr. Wonderful's Twin's* family in Boise, I just can't bring myself to surrender my pride, too.
Just kill me.
Guys, you're not off the hook either. It's not JUST the over-the-shoulder-boulder-holder that's on a no-fly list.
also suggest wearing "tight pants," not loose, so forget about those triple-pleated khakis.
Sorry, dude. You could be carrying Roger Rabbit and an AK-47 in those. Come on over here, big boy, and let's have ourselves a hot enhanced pat-down...
They suggest wearing form-fitting shirts, not billowy mumus, oversized t-shirts, or bulky sweaters. Sorry about the beer-gut camouflage, but you may want to invest in a bike jersey that lets the nice agents see everything. And I mean EVERYTHING.
Oof. Sorry. That hurt me more than it hurt you. I had to search for the image.
They also suggest avoiding:
- metal buttons
- heavy jewelry
- cuff links
- bolo ties
- belt buckles
Everybody got that?
On the bright side, I guess we've finally caught up with Sci-Fi. Now we know why everybody in the future wears spandex jumpsuits.
There's apparently no other way to get through security at the goddamned space port.
*I think Mr. Wonderful's Twin needs a shorter nickname, without that awkward possessive. The suggestion box is open.