Monday, November 9, 2015

Facebook: yet another riveting post




(Names removed to protect ME. I just cannot figure out why any sane person would discuss this on Facebook!)

     I got sized for new bras over the weekend... because weight fluctuates/moves. I went to a small locally owned lingerie company that sells super nice bras for every size and the new ones are so comfortable... but I only bought 3 because (of course) they're really too expensive to buy more than that at one time. Three bras covers most of my needs, but philosophical question (asked as I fold laundry) how many sizes to the side should I keep as extras? Currently my collection has four different sizes--and the new ones make a fifth... le sigh.

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     The struggle is real. If they are more than a cup size off donate them. Lots of domestic violence shelters really need bras, so that's one way to get rid of them.
 
    But seriously, by the time I can afford the number of bras I would actually like I've already changed sizes again. I know there are some people out there who are the same size for years but... not me.
    

     It's been a fortunate life, I've worn the same size bra for 45 years, since I was 20

        
      Lucky!

     
   I know that feel. I think I went up a cup size every year at Hamp.


  
  Yep, mind I didn't get my first bra until I was seventeen and then only one.....

   So the theory is you're supposed to have a few so that the elastic can bounce back before the next wear (you don't have to wash bras every time you wear them). Then I like a light one, a dark one, a few pretty ones to make me feel good on silly days, and a strapless one... Which adds up to like 5 or 6 in optimum rotation.
  
 
    I bought 10 pairs at half price, $30 each and still have three pairs not yet worn, all colours, satin and Lacey pretty ones, when I wash them I make sure they are washed in a bra bag and are hung by the under length with two soft pressure pegs


Facebook: just because we care




"Margaret, we care about you and the memories you share here," says Facebook to me on a desolate Monday. The notice just appears out of nowhere, popping up and interrupting my news feed. So they post something from two years ago that they assume I would want to see again.

Well, I think I'll go on living, folks, knowing somebody "cares about me" and the memories I share here. The thing they thought I'd like to look back on from two years ago was a chart which illustrated the inbreeding of Charles II of Spain, with a family tree in which half his relatives were either first cousins or uncle-niece combinations. 





It gave me a warm and lint-covered feeling to realize that Facebook cared enough - yes, CARED enough about me individually, as a person, to carefully select this damp and frothy memory. No doubt their loving, even tender choice revealed much about me, someone who shares special, nay, irreplaceable memories with her many thousands of Facebook friends on a daily or perhaps hourly or even moment-by-moment basis. But even more caring are all those ads for Walmart which they keep blasting in my face twenty times a day. Nice to know they're thinking of me as a potential market for corporate advertising - not just now, but always.






When I deleted this thing, a notice came up in bold type that said, "We're sorry, we know we don't always get it right." I heard muffled sobbing in the background. Or is that just the ever-present hum of the Facebook engine? Whatever, the statement was designed to produce a little twinge of bad feeling, something that would stay with you all day and just blight your joy a little, a sense you'd somehow been insensitive and done something gratuitously hurtful and wrong. 

Don't worry, the good folks at Facebook are apologetic and contrite, and just beating themselves up for doing this to you - but hey, didn't they do it just to please you, to make your day a little brighter? So if you don't appreciate their honest efforts to cheer you and make you a welcome part of Facebook Nation, doesn't that say something about YOU? Did you ever stop to think what a shit you are?




Mondays