I haven’t gotten around to informing Mr. B. yet. I’m not sure that I should. He’ll find out in his own way, of course. But I do recall my own pubescent shock when I finally discovered the trick that made girls’ breasts stand up so perkily under their tops—some aimed straight ahead like the nose cones of ICBMs.
Learning the cruel reality of the under-wired brassiere was disillusioning, to say the least. I would have been fortunate, indeed, to have had this celebrated brassiere analyst’s blog to turn to from the beginning. Revealing such details as that Victoria Secret bras don’t even fit the models. Of course the Web in general would have been a great favor in and of itself back in those dark ages of the late 1950s.
UPDATE: This was mainly intended as a joke. (Sorry, Scott.) This is not funny at all and it explains why Mr. B. came home from his sex education class back in fifth grade thoroughly mystified as to what was under discussion and why he should care.
THE TEXAS SCRIBBLER 