writing rengeek magpie mind

December 2014



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the heartbreak of armpit fat.

I have just discovered the official silliest piece of fatphobia I have ever encountered in my born days.

Apparently, we are all now supposed to be terrified of exposing our unsightly armpit fat.

Based on my admittedly cursory internet research, and exemplified by the image above, I would worry about the health consequences for any woman concerned with armpit fat, because it would suggest that she is not doing her breast self-exam properly. What we see above, in the damning orange circles, is in fact part of the boob. And the problem is that Madam is not wearing a properly-fitting bra, as the one illustrated above is at least two cup sizes too small and one band size too large. The little metal bits (we call them 'underwires') are meant to lie flat against the ribcage, not sit halfway up Mount Doom like the track of a sidehill hoofer.

Why yes, I am supposed to be writing a novel. Why do you ask?

But the patriarchy is in my armpits. Some things just can't wait.


Seriously. Finding good non-wired sports bras is a mess, and you'd think that 38C would be a reasonably common size that places would stock! You'd think!

But it turns out that if they stock 'em, they don't keep them in stock, or restock with anything like frequency. I keep wondering where all these 32A and 36DD and 40B cup women are, who by all appearances should have no problem getting the bras I like, while I hunt and hunt and hunt for the one last remaining set in my size...