Wow! My chestile area is amazed

Well, I guess I found the secret to being a blogger, write about intimate undergarments, especially those involving the chestile area and/or use the word boob and you will get more likes; comments; and follows in 1 day than you ever have before!

Thank you all sincerely who took the time to read my last post and I am so glad you enjoyed my writing or maybe it was simply my long overlooked admittance that said chestile area needed attention. Either way it was great to wake up this morning to like, like, like!

By the by, I do realize (and I hope that you also realize) that my use of the word chestile is a complete fabrication. I actually think I might have stolen it from a friend of my daughters, or at least something like it. K**** is fondly thought of my me as someone who is quick on the draw with made up words and if I didn’t hear it directly from her then she was my inspiration none the less.

Just to be safe, I Googled chestile. Not because I really thought it might be a word, come on now, but you all know you can Google just about anything and someone, somewhere will be using the word. My search reveals:

  • Che Stiles—tiles of Italy. A locally owned New Zealand tile company
  • Chestiles—a band called Nightwalker with apparently 1 YouTube hit
  •  Chestile.com—an Italian site that has something to do with art and painting although my minimal Italian language skills don’t allow me to fully grasp what it is I could order through Paypal

I refuse to go any farther than page 1 as this is truly a silly, made up word. But at least in some odd sense I feel better as a writer because I have sort of given credit to those who have come before me. I try not to plagiarise, really. But I have enough of citing references in class so I am not going that far.

Hey, that’s an interesting concept for a blog. Make up a word and post what you find on a Google search, all the while applying your own viewpoint. Probably taken already and actually sort of takes the fun out of making up words.

I will leave you this morning with an image. I couldn’t help myself. I had to run to Google images also in a search for chestile. Guess what, I found the disc put out by the infamous band I mentioned above. Now I feel that I can truly hold my head high, double credit in a post has to make up for using their word right?

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(?) Musings on ladies undergarments

I have finally decided to break my silence on this topic after a short struggle in which I was trying to determine just how much I might offend some of my readers.

But the reality is this: I made a vow to myself that this blog would be about me, all aspects of me and my life and I am still struggling to let all of me be revealed. So I take this stance. When I decide to write a slightly sketchy post openly I am going to begin the title with a secret code. To any of my readers who wish not to read about any of my odd, or more personal ramblings then disregard any post title that begins with this (?).

You have now been warned so enter at your own risk.

Tonight the topic is bras, or if you prefer brassieres, although I have never liked that world. It makes me think of the 1950’s style Playtex bra with the cross your heart design, the stitching that went directly across the cup and the oddly pointy quality to the bra itself. I remember these because I thought it was great fun to put on my mother’s Playtex bras; stuff them and walk around like I had boobs when I was about 8 years old.

And of course I have to pay homage to Jane Russell if I am writing about Playtex bras, but really was the female anatomy ever really that protrusive?

My revelation involves a personal inability to realize for a long, long time that one’s body changes as one ages. I have seen evidence of this as clothing sizes have advanced and retreated over the years, clothing choices and styles have changed regularly based on new or advancing bulges and bumps but for some reason, one area of my body that has been locked in a time warp has been the chestile area of my person. I am not sure why I have been unable or unwilling to realize that for many, many years now that area has not been the same size it was 10, 20, maybe even 30 years ago.

This does not mean that I am walking around in the same bra I was wearing at 20 years of age. I assure you I am not. But I have been consistently buying a size that in reality has not been “my size” for many years. Why have I not noticed this change? It is not for lack of any want or desire that their be a change. Quick the contrary. One of the most awe-inspiring times of my life was during my childbearing years when I had the privilege of actually having a chest and cleavage. Somehow though, I simply assumed that when those fruitful days had passed, I had also returned to my pre-motherhood size and shape and I simply purchased my usual whenever the need arose.

I consider myself an intelligent woman. Why in the world did I assume that while the rest of me was changing and morphing and bulging and receding, my chestile area was frozen in time. It was not, and until very recently I did not acknowledge this. So in a fortuitous moment, an ah-ha moment, an epiphany actually I decided to not only look at the possibility of new sizing but actually went so far as to try on and discover that reality is an amazing thing. Purchasing new and correctly fitting undergarments has greatly added to my comfort, my self-esteem and my cleavage.

This by the way is only an example of what I may have purchased. I am not advertising for any brand personally

The downside of this though, and you knew there would be a downside because I am 52 not 22 is that ultimately the need for this up sizing is not all positive by any means. Yes the need was there but much of what was once not being contained that is now being contained is the result of age, 3 children nourishing themselves, and what I affectionately like to term, “underarm boob” which is my way of not completely admitting to that little bit of extra skin and tissue (ok fat) that tends to sit just to the side of the breast itself and in an ill-fitting undergarment likes to peep over the top of the band. Sort of back fat but just a little more forward.

I am happy to report that everything is now contained nicely. I feel much better about myself. I spent more on brassieres lately than I have in my entire life* and I can finally say proudly that I don’t have a little girl chest anymore.

No, there will not be pictures, video or revelation of actual sizes. I leave that all to the imagination of my readers. There will be no pointedness either. Thankfully I have outgrown that phase also.

*My cheapness may have also been a factor in the many years of wrong size wearability as it is well-known or maybe not so well-known that spending $30 or $40 or more dollars for one bra makes me wince mightily and refuse to acknowledge the need for a change.