Up past my usual 8:30 bedtime one night and, like a 3-year-old who gets to stay up late with the big people, I thought I’d check out what goes on in cyberspace after 10:00. Five minutes online, and I struck gold.
Apparently there’s a facebook app called the “Social Media Sobriety Test,” designed to help prevent regrettable, late-night, drunken posts to spouses (“Babe, SO sorry I slept with your sister. I was drunk and thought she was you”), employers (“Didn’t like my presentation, jackass?? I QUIT”), ex-lovers (“Pleeeez take me back. Sob. I’m just a pathetic loser without you”), friends (“Seriously, dude, you really don’t know your wife is sleeping with your best friend?? Everyone else does”), or family members (“Yeah, you just think mom loves you best. She gave me a thousand bucks for my birthday last year. What did she give YOU?”)
Once installed, whenever you try to post after 10 p.m., it automatically opens a quick test (you have to type in the alphabet backwards, which I can’t do sober, so yeah, I’m screwed). If you fail, you can’t log in. But just to make sure the entire universe knows your every move, it then UPDATES YOUR STATUS to say “(Your name) can’t post tonight because he/she is intoxicated.” Awesome. (At this point, if you’re at a bar and any of your facebook friends are local police officers, I wouldn’t try to drive home, since you just publicly outed your current condition. “Yeah, I’m drunk, and yep, I’m driving home now.”) So this amazing app saves relationships and jobs, and reduces DUI convictions. And best of all, it’s FREE!
But since I’m a social media junkie (show me a blogger who isn’t, and I’ll show you a writer that writes to hear herself speak), I had to pass on anything that threatens to kick me offline, so I moved on to late-night shopping. Settling in with a glass of wine (since I’m neither posting on facebook nor driving), I booted up a search for something fun and girly to buy. Having more luck than I usually experience with lottery tickets or blackjack, I quickly struck gold for the second time that night. Up popped a photo, with accompanying link, to the Bosom Max.
Pink (of course), frilly, and cut down to there, this marvelous little invention is actually a bra that promises “remarkable breast enhancement through electrostatic stimulation” during daily wear. The testimonials were hilarious. Apparently it’s possible to “squeeze, squeeze, squeeze” yourself up 2 cup sizes. (You just CAN’T make this stuff up!) So I’m supposed to get dressed, fire up my bra, and walk around all day with my breasts moving around like I’ve got live cats in there, thinking no one will notice?? And by the end of the day, I’ve had eight hours of breast massage and, quite frankly, now I just want to be left alone. I can already hear the conversation. Kenny: “I’m feeling a little sparky tonight, sweetie. Up for a little nudge, nudge, wink, wink?” Me: “No, thanks. I’ve been wearing The Bra all day. I’m good.” Something tells me I won’t be getting one of these for my birthday.
As I crawled into bed and fell into a blissful, belated sleep, I decided I’m never going to be a night owl. But if your facebook post tonight gets you fired, divorced, or unfriended by a family member, or if you discovered another piece of battery operated underwear, I promise to read about it in the morning.