Warning: Due to the serious nature of today’s post, there will be no pictures. Feel free to imagine a picture wherever you think there should be one.
I sat down today to write a light hearted fashion post. But this Very Important Public Service Announcement seemed to write itself first. It’s about something that may have already happened to you. Maybe you didn’t want to talk about it. I understand; I’ve been there.
Many people write blogs about their daily lives. Curious readers love to identify with the nitty gritty of the lives of others, from how they got into grad school to how they coped with their husband’s death. This practice goes right along with the well known advice for writers to write about what they know. I just want to go on record here to say that writing about what you know can have some unintended consequences.
A while back I wrote this post about a frustration in my daily life. I intended for the post to resonate with other middle aged crones such as myself. Maybe a few younger women would read it as well and vow, erroneously, that my situation would never happen to them. Overall, though, I hoped that we girls would all bond over remembering our first bras, and how we have struggled with the contraptions since. But believe me, the response to that post has informed me NEVER to write a post about bras again.
Because who knew, and who wants to know, how many persons are out there searching for images of bras and breasts? At all times of the day and night? And all over the globe? Not a day goes by that I do not have searches such as “little girl no bra,” “schoolgirl bra,” “girls in school uniforms no bra”? EEEWWWW!!!!! “Asian teens in bras”, “Pakistani girls modeling bras” DOUBLE EEEWWW!!!!! How could I have been so naive? I thought I said “For Ladies Only”!
Who are these people who are SO uninvited to my blog? My imagination goes wild: Adolescent boys in an internet cafe in a developing country? Preteen girls in Kansas City, on their Ipods at a sleepover? Or, my worst visual, a pedophile of indeterminate age and nationality, slavering over his laptop at night in his rented room? ( No offense intended to those who rent rooms.) I know I can’t see them and they can’t see me, but I don’t like knowing they’re out there. It’s uncomfortable, kind of like having a dog watch you undress.
The only possible bright note is that there seem to be no searches for “saggy breasts”, “droopy bras”, or”middle aged woman no bra.” We girls of a certain age can at least know that our kind is not sought after by who- knows- whom on the Internet. As we undergo the inevitable, and losing, struggle with gravity, we can console ourselves knowing the world doesn’t care. It’s our secret.
I do not in any way mean to squash anyone’s creativity with my cautionary tale. In retrospect perhaps I should have been able to see that my post had the potential to attract undesirable attention, leading to Post-Traumatic-Slime-Syndrome. This occurs when you look at your stat page and are grossed out by the searches which are leading to your blog. Symptoms are disgust, a scowling facial expression, and compulsive horrified re-reading of the searches, followed by a slamming shut of your laptop.
I know PTSS cannot always be predicted. When we launch a post into cyberspace, it can be found by anyone. We must not be deterred from our writing needs and dreams by something we cannot prevent. But forewarned is forearmed, I say. Should it happen to you, don’t blame yourself. You are not alone. And I’m here if you want to talk.