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Column Classic: Lift and Separate

By Lisa Scottoline

Once again, you’ve come to the right place.

If you read this, you’re going to LOL.

But this time, I can’t take the credit. 

Sometimes the world hands you an ace.  All you have to do is set it down on the table and play.

I’m talking, of course, about the SmartBra.

Have you heard about this?  If not, I’m here to tell you that at the recent consumer electronics show, a Canadian tech company introduced a smartbra, which is a bra that is smarter than you are.

Or at least smarter than your breasts. 

Microsoft is reportedly developing a smartbra, too, and I’m sure the other tech companies will follow suit.

Or maybe bra.

If it creeps you out that the male-dominated tech industry is thinking about what’s under your shirt, raise your hand.

Just don’t raise it very fast.

They’re watching you jiggle.

Bottom line, the smartbras contain sensors that are supposed to record your “biometric data” and send it to an app on your mobile device. 

It’s a fitbit for your breasts.

Or a fittit.

Sorry, I know that’s rude, but I couldn’t resist.

Like I said, the world handed me an ace. 

Anyway, to stay on point, the biometric data it monitors is your heart rate and respiration rate, but Microsoft has taken that a step further.  According to CNN, their smartbra is embedded with “psychological sensors that seek to monitor a woman’s heart activity to track her emotional moods and combat overeating.”  In fact, their “sensors can signal the wearer’s smartphone, which then flash a warning message to help her step away from the fridge and make better diet decisions.”

Isn’t that a great idea?

It’s a bra that tells on you when you’re hitting the chocolate cake.

Forgive me if I’m not rushing out to buy one.

I already know when I’m being bad, and I don’t need to be nagged by my underwear.

By the way, the smartbra sells for $150.

If that price gives you a heart attack, the bra will know it. 

Maybe the bra can call 911.

Maybe the bra can even drive you to the hospital.

Don’t slack, bra.

That’s for breasts.

The Canadian company says that wearable tech is the latest thing, and that it developed its smart bra because it had “a plethora of requests from eager women who wanted in on the action, too.” 

Do you believe that? 

I don’t. 

On the contrary, I know a plethora of eager women who wish they didn’t have to wear a bra at all. 

I also know a plethora of eager women who take their bra off the moment they hit the house. 

Plus I know a plethora of eager women who skip the bra if they’re wearing a sweatshirt, sweater, or down vest. 

Finally, I know a plethora of eager women who would never use the word plethora in a sentence.

Okay, maybe I’m talking about myself. 

Frankly, I don’t want “in on the action” if the action means a bra that will tell the tri-state area I’m pigging out.

However, I want “in on the action” if the action means Bradley Cooper. 

And nobody needs a smartbra to monitor what would happen to my heart if Bradley Cooper were around.

By the way, researchers are not currently developing a pair of smart tighty whitey’s for men.

That’s too bad because I have a name for it.

SmartBalls.

But maybe men don’t need underwear with a sensor that detects their emotional changes. 

They already have such a sensor. 

In fact, they were born with it. 

Too bad it doesn’t make any noise.

Like, woohooo!

Copyright © Lisa Scottoline

Column Classic: Greased Lightning

By Lisa Scottoline

I’m a big fan of combinations, like soup-and-sandwich.  Peanut butter-and-jelly.  Spaghetti-and-meatballs.

You may detect a pattern.

Carbohydrates are the leitmotif.

Or maybe the heavy-motif.

One combination I never thought of is jeans-and-moisturizer.  Lucky for women, marketing has thought of that for us!

You may have read the news story which reported that Wrangler is selling a line of jeans that embeds microcapsules of moisturizer in the fabric, which evidently explode on impact with your thighs and moisturize them.

I think this is an awesome idea.  I often fantasize about things that would explode on impact with my thighs, such as Bradley Cooper.

It gives new meaning to the term thunder thighs.

The line of jeans is called Denim Spa, which is quite a combination, right there.  Denim and Spa are two words I have never experienced together. 

Like love-and-marriage.

But to stay on point, Wrangler markets three types of moisturizer jeans.  One comes embedded with Aloe Vera and another with Olive Oil, but choosing between the two is a no-brainer for me.  I wouldn’t pick Aloe Vera, because she sounds like someone I went to high school with and I don’t share jeans.

I’d leave the aloe alone.

Instead I’d pick the olive oil.  If I added balsamic, those jeans would be delicious.

But only extra virgins can wear them.

Count me out.

Come to think of it, if I were going to infuse jeans with food, I would go with Cinnabons. 

Extra frosting is more fun than extra virgin.

The moisturizer in the jeans lasts up to fifteen days, but Wrangler also offers a “reload spray” that you can squirt your pants with.  I’m not sure I’d buy the spray.  It would be cheaper to pour olive oil on my pants, like a salad.  I’d dress them properly, before I got dressed.

But the third type of moisturizer jeans is my favorite, and it’s called Smooth Legs.

I need Smooth Legs.  I have only Scaly Legs and Hairy Legs, or a combination of the two, which is Scary Legs. 

The amazing thing about the Smooth Legs jeans is that they not only moisturize your legs, they fight cellulite.

Wow!

According to the website, the way they do this is by a “special formula” embedded in the jeans, which contains “caffeine, retinol, and algae extract.”

Which contains mayonnaise.

Why fight jeans that fight cellulite?

I wouldn’t.  I’d be scared.  They can “reload.”  I wouldn’t buy them without a background check.

If you ask me, fighting cellulite is a lot to ask from a pair of pants, much less clothing in general, and you’ve got to hand it to Wrangler, which charges a mere $150 for a pair of these hard-working jeans.  That’s only $75 per leg or approximately $.03 per cellulite dimple, if you have 2,928,474,747 million dimples, like me.

In fact, I just got another 4,928,749, in the time you took to read that last sentence.

In my experience, cellulite comes only in packs of 4,928,749.

I wouldn’t mind having a pair of pants that fought cellulite for me, which would be like having a lawyer for my butt.

This is because I don’t spend any time fighting my cellulite.  On the contrary, my cellulite and I have an arrangement.  My cellulite agrees to stay on the back of my legs, thighs, and tushie, and I agree not to look at myself from behind. 

This turns out to be easy.  Because I always move forward and never look back.

Metaphor not included.

In truth, I’ve come to accept and enjoy my cellulite.  I can amuse myself by playing connect the dots on my thighs or finding constellations on my butt.  For example, my left rump sports not only the Big and Little Dippers, but also The Serving Spoon, The Soup Ladle, and The Cake Knife.

The best thing about the moisturizer jeans is that all that grease must make them easier to get on.  But being menopausal, I might need more lubrication.

Like motor oil.

Come to think of it, I won’t be buying the moisturizer dungarees.

They’re not worth dung.

Copyright © Lisa Scottoline