Perhaps Jacy has stumbled onto something with her observation that the Tempest in a B-Cup could in fact be a Conspiracy in a C-Cup.
Oprah is right -- for years I thought I was a 36B, got fitted and found out I was a 34C.These puppies just don't seem like a C cup to me, and I suspect that somehow they are messing with bra sizes now in addition to everything else, but I followed the instructions of my bra lady and started buying the new size.How could it be that Jacy spent all those years thinking she was a B, when, all of a sudden she is now a C? And how could it be that we all arrived at this conclusion at precisely the same cultural moment, when Oprah declared it on TV?
Could it be that the Brassiere-Manufacturing Industrial Complex (BMIC) has changed it sizes and sizing criteria to seed doubt in the Boobed Lumpen Proletariate, a proletariate that knows the fear of the gravity-inspired, one-way journey south?
I fear there's something rotten going on here.
Could there be a massive guerilla marketing campaign afoot here to promote the sale of brassieres, by tapping into fear of sagging?
I'm not suggesting that Our Lady of the Perpetually Well-Fitted Brassiere Oprah is a willing conspirator. But perhaps she is an instrument in the marketing campaign of the century.
Remember they didn't sell you Listerine by telling you it was a good mouthwash, they sold you Listerine by telling you about halitosis.
