So there I am today at Fred Meyer, perusing the kiddie sales clothes because I’m a cheap bitch f
rugal consumer, when I notice this among the girls socks and panties:
Now let’s just for a moment forget the fact that this rack — fine, I went there — is standing precisely between the infant and toddler girls’ clothes sections. We are knee-high in Doraville here, people, tit-deep in Tinktow– erm, YEAH.
And you know, whatever, Ellie and Nola like to pick up Mommy’s bras and put them on and run around the house yelling “BOOBS!!” to anyone who’ll listen, so at first I think it’s some kind of pretend bra there in the infant/toddler area, and maybe around the next aisle I’ll find the pretend Mydol and pretend waxing kits, and why don’t I carry Xanax on my person again, anyway?
But then I actually take a good close look at the tag and realize, “Oh, because I would’ve swallowed half the bottle here in the Fred Meyer TODDLER BRA SECTION and poor Nola wouldn’t be able to unstrap herself from the cart to drive herself home.”
Because that tag, friends, reads “30 A/8,” and if you don’t know anything about kiddie clothing sizes, that “8” means THAT BRA IS DESIGNED FOR AN 8-YEAR-OLD GIRL.
Now I understand that early puberty is an issue these days, what with all the hormones in the meat and dairy, but HOLY FUCKETY FUCK. I think it’s safe to say that when Ellie and Nola are 8 — in the THIRD GRADE, fer chrissakes — I’d rather they be focused on their multiplication tables, and which latest version of a Jonas Brother is cuter, and who’s a bigger buttface, Mommy or Daddy (totally Daddy, girls) instead of having to choose between underwire or seamless and worrying about their MOTHERFUCKING CUP SIZE.
(Also? Why I’ll consume nothing but water and expired Monsanto seeds stamped with a fucking nuclear warning symbol if it means keeping them on the organic tit and keeping the tits the hell offa them.)