What is Underboob?

Underboob is my alter ego. She is a middle-aged, slightly overweight, pre-menopausal super hero. She manifested in the car on the way home from the mall with my friend and her teen-aged daughter. I mentioned that my under boob itched and then teenager and I had to explain to my friend that this was the area under your breast that is not your rib cage. We decided it sounded like a super hero. As a result of too much sugar this quickly evolved into radio-active nipples that shoot green lasers at misogynistic men as a result of a mammogram accident. And since violence is never the answer the evil doers are shrunk down and captured into a phone app via QR scanner. Underboob is all about keeping it real and calling out the B.S. that we all face in this world. She also doesn’t have time for your crap. I love her.


Underboob complete with cellphone, cape, and dorky glasses

You can’t get superpowers from a mammogram!

That isn’t a question, but I get your point. It’s called suspended disbelief. You are expected to just roll with it. But since some people just have to know the back story I’ll share it with you. I had to get my first mammogram and my crappy insurance that costs too much and I am expected to be grateful for wouldn’t cover the digital imaging. So, the overworked technician had to use the traditional equipment that employs two plates. Only one of those plates moves. The tech must have gotten confused because she accidentally lifted the plate causing me to balance on tippy toes and shout at her to stop. I’m only five feet tall, it doesn’t leave much room for error. The thought of being hung up by your left tit is horrifying and tends to stay with you. True story. Promise.

Shouldn’t there be a villain?


Yes! Every hero needs a nemesis and I found it at The Christmas Tree Shoppes. Because where else would you find inspiration? I needed something that embodied the futility and arrogance of clinging to long outdated ideals of gender roles. It couldn’t be scary, because sexism isn’t scary. Sexism is annoying. Tacky. So I found the tackiest thing in the world. A shelf sitter that is a rooster formed out of pieces of fruit. I named it Baron Von Fruitrooster. Every man who tells you to smile, or cat calls on the street, or makes more money for doing less work is the Baron. Much like modern bigotry, when confronted with the Baron your first impression shouldn’t be fear but rather WTF?


I look at a misogynist with the same face you did when you saw this piece of kitsch.


Is this a feminist blog?

Not intentionally. I have been cursed with a quick wit and a lack of filter between my brain and my mouth. However, as a highly educated, professional woman in my 40’s I often encounter marginally educated executives that are completely oblivious to their male privilege and their often unconscious bias towards women. It tends to be something that aggravates me in my daily life and my impotent rage is reflected in my writing.

What is Perimenopausal Prolixity?

Perimenopause is the time when women transition from our childbearing years to menopause. Crazy stuff happens, like puberty in reverse. Prolixity means to extended to great, unnecessary, or tedious length. Usually it is used in reference to speaking. So this can apply to both my hormonal changes and my inability to shut up about any given topic.

Why didn’t you write a book?

Underboob started as a joke, but I couldn’t let go of the idea. There are so few superheros depicted in middle age and fewer of them women. I loved the idea of her, but I couldn’t find a story line. Following the advice writers have given other writers since human kind put pen to paper I just wrote. I wrote everyday hoping it would come together as something. It didn’t, but people seemed to enjoy my warped view of the world. Perhaps something will eventually manifest into a story. In the meantime I have been pressed into blogging by J. J. is an excellent motivator!

Who is the Emperor and why is he naked?

If you asked this you need to read more. This refers to The Emperor’s New Clothes by Hans Christian Andersen. Great story about not being afraid to break away from the herd and follow what you know to be true. In my mind the Emperor is either someone who tries to sell you a bill of goods (though technically that would be the charlatan weavers) or someone who uses position and ego to coerce you into logical fallacy. Everyone has had a boss that is full of crap and everyone knows it, but no one is willing to call them out. I do it all the time. Mostly due to that lack of filter.

Are you for real?

I used to ponder that at great length. I’ve come to accept that whether I am real or not real is of little consequence. Reality, like all perception, is subjective.

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