Superheroes…In Bustiers?

wonderwoman

Faster than a pre-ejaculate
More powerful than Viagra
Able to heave over tall buildings in a single bounce.
Look!  Up in the sky.
It’s a bottle, it’s a balloon,
No, it’s Supertits!

Who is Supertits you ask?  Well she’s not really just one who, but a symbol of the many super busty, super women, keeping the world safe with her knock out powers, and eye candy costumes, distracting bad guys, and catching criminals with her cavernous cleavage, all in a days work.

Recently my five year old son (and my 45 year old husband), has been fascinated with the Justice League.  You know, DC comics band of super friends: Superman, Batman, Aquaman, Green Lantern, and The Flash.  Included amongst these titans in tights are a couple of super heroines known as Wonder Woman and Hawk Girl.  As I sat and watched these cartoons with my son, I couldn’t overlook the buxom bosoms heaving out over these daredevil divas tight fitting bustiers; yes, bustiers!  It was as if all their superpowers were concentrated in one spot.

I said to my husband during one of our Justice League marathons,  “I don’t understand why these super hero women need to be dressed in bustiers, with their swollen breasts spilling out over their costumes.  It belittles their power; it’s so sexist”, to which he replied, “ No it isn’t.  Those ARE the most powerful things in the universe!”

I laughed out loud.  Leave it to a man to state the obvious.  Of course breasts control the power of the universe.  Breast augmentation is the second most popular plastic surgery. Breasts provide sexual pleasure, feed life to newborns, and rally millions in support and dollars when they’re ill.

Let’s face it, it’s not like an A cup is going to stop a speeding bullet.

Fighting crime and getting ahead is hard work, and our super heroines are entitled to use whatever forces of nature help them to accomplish this.  And for those of us not so fortunate to have cosmic cleavage, there’s always booty brawn to knock out bad guys.

But I’m not much of a comic book type of gal, so in the name of research, I had to check out how many other tensile strength tits were bouncing around out there in the name of truth and justice.  Let me tell you, the list was longer than America’s Most Wanted.  Here’s a synopsis of five of the top heavy super ladies, and their claim to fame:

Marvel-lady-superheroes

1.) Power Girl.  From Superman’s home planet of Krypton, Power Girl is sporting a powerful set of double D’s protruding through the hole in the center of her teddy.  With a lot of support, she rises to the position of chairman in the Justice Society.

2.)Ms. Marvel, leader of the Avengers, is clad in a black leather bustier teddy with matching leather gloves and black leather thigh high boots.  She makes pretty woman look like a catholic school girl.

3.) Storm, a member of the X-Men, is scantily wrapped in tight fitting leather.  She has the ability to control the weather.  Perhaps it’s her thunderous breasts channeling this ESP.

4.)Emma Frost.  Forget the bustier, this frosty fem fatale cools down in a set a of pasties and Le Mystere panties.  It’s no wonder she becomes leader of the X-Men.

5.) Wonder Woman.  I had to save the best for last.  This is the one Super Heroine I do remember growing up with.  An American Icon, she gives a whole new meaning to the red, white and blue.  Her American Eagle adorned bustier and star spangled booty would make any man stand up and salute her flag.  But it’s her lasso swinging skills, bullet repelling bracelets, and super strength that made every girl feel she could be powerful too.

Now look, I’m a modern woman, a self proclaimed feminist, and an A cup.  But I couldn’t help think, ‘Is this dominatrix image one that should be projected toward young kids, or is it just a reflection of reality?’  Voluptuous, strong women do rise to powerful positions; it’s just hard to see their bustiers under those power suits.

We all have to use our strengths in this world to get ahead, and we might not be glamorous superheroes, or super models, or even super mom’s, but we all have something super to offer as women.  So hats off to the tantalizing, titillating, tightly topped titans of feminine mystique, Supertits, and her boobalicious powers to fight crime while climbing the comic strip corporate ladder.

Reposted by Jean James courtesy of:  http://www.inthepowderroom.com

“Honey…Where’s My…?”

If you’re married, like me, then at some point, or perhaps every day, you hear the phrase, “Honey…Where’s my…?”  Where is your what:  your brain,  your eyes,  your f’ing common sense?  I’ll tell you where it is, it’s up your ass!  Why is it that men are incapable of ever finding something that belongs to them?  Why!!??  If it isn’t bad enough I have to deal with three kids asking me the same questions, why must I also have to accommodate a grown man?  I’m starting to really question the whole idea of man as hunter.  I don’t believe they could find a bear in the woods if they tried.  I’m sure ancient man was somehow grunting to their gatherer wives, “Honey…grunt grunt…have you seen my buffalo?”  Ancient woman, leading the way, rolling her eyes and pointing to a large, brown, furry thing right in front of him was probably wondering the same thing her futuristic female counter part was.  Let’s face it, it wasn’t a male scout invited to lead Louis and Clarke from the Mississippi River to the Pacific Ocean, nooo, it was Sacagawea, a woman, carrying a baby no less!!

On top of not being able to find anything, men also don’t notice anything.  They’re like camels with their heads buried in the sand, looking up only for food, drink, and sex.  Men never notice the things you do around the house, but boy do they have eyes for the things you haven’t done.  I love the question, “What have you done all day?”  What have I done all day!!??  Really??

Some days I do ten loads of laundry.  I purposefully leave two baskets overflowing with folded clean clothes at the bottom of the stairs in hopes that maybe my husband might pick one up on his way upstairs.  Two weeks later he’s calling down to me, “Honey have you seen my underwear?”  Yeah, I’d like to see it…in a bonfire!

So the other day I’m at work and I get a call from my husband.  The first question he asks me is, “When did you paint the patch on the wall in our bedroom?”  Let me just fill you in on the history of ‘the patch’.  Three years ago we moved into our house, my husband, who is not so handy, decides to rip the old light switch remote plate off the wall, leaving a hole in the sheet rock.   BTW, this was done after we had already paid a bundle to have the whole house painted.  So my carpenter, (A.K.A. house husband), came and patched the hole, and we had a good laugh at my husband’s un-handy man attempt.

What was really funny was that the patch then sat there; a big, white, square surrounded by a bold terra-cotta hue, above the new light switch, for the past two years.  I even went so far as to bring the paint can upstairs in hopes he might try to repair the damage he inflicted.  Well, when the dust level on the paint can started to make me sneeze, I realized it was time to take matters into my own hands, and paint that white patch myself.  Three weeks later, I got the call.

Right after I got my call that day, my colleague got a call from her husband; apparently I wasn’t the only one with ‘white patch’ issues.  In lieu of caring for our critically ill patients, we were fielding phone calls from the men in our lives, solving problems, helping with child care issues, and listening to the evangelical revelations of noticing paint on the wall.

As my friend hung up the phone, her head bowed and shaking back and force, the swears under her breath just barely audible, I felt a shared sense of shoes in that moment and wondered, ‘what are we going to do with our husbands?’

Then it dawned on me, the solutions to our problems.  Not one to revel in despair, I knew I needed to have an upbeat idea, one that would satisfy both me and my husband and put an end to what seemed a hopeless ending.

You know how we reward our children for good behavior with a sticker or a treat or provide them with a detailed chart, so they understand their responsibilities throughout the family, thus did I think men also required some sort of symbol; a beacon to guide them to an understanding of what was done in the house that day, or to take notice of something they might otherwise pass by without so much as a glance, a symbol that would turn a man’s head even if his head was so low from the game loss of his favorite football team that day.

It has been my experience that the only thing to give a man’s head whiplash faster than a car accident, is a set of large, round, heaving, carefully placed breasts between a low V-shaped ensemble on a voluptuous woman.   Instead of trying to tell a man what you did all day, you must show him with some fabulous tata’s.  Whether it’s a playboy printout, or a set you crafty mom’s have created from paper mache, breasts are breasts, and no man will look away.  Boobs on the laundry pile are a guarantee he’ll want to carry that load upstairs.  Dishes done, post those boobs on the dishwasher and he might empty that load faster than you think.  When he’s looking for something he can’t find, just pin a pair of luscious breasts on it, and bam, he’ll come for it.  New haircut…need I say more?

I’m tired of feeling bitter.  We women need to think outside the box, or the bra for that matter.  If an extra pair of breasts in this house can help me out, then I’m all for it.  God knows, as an A-cup, I can use all the breasts I can get!