Shock, Awe and Boobs at the Super Bowl

Remember Janet Jackson’s ‘wardrobe malfunction’ at the Super Bowl? I think the only people who were really in ‘shock and awe’ over that were the network executives who probably still shudder at the thought of Janet Jackson’s right breast. Us women? Not so much.

Most women are like perverse naturalists. Those of us in our ‘later years’ have charted the glacial migration of our breasts from budding points of interest to their now close proximity to our navels. We’re immune to shock when it comes to breasts.

So, no, ‘shock and awe’ aren’t the operative words here. I think ambushed is more the word I’m looking for.

For example, I don’t feel ambushed when I watch cable television. Cable program ratings tell you what to expect. My husband watches the ratings at the beginning of each show the way a small child anticipates an Easter egg hunt; each time he sees the warning for nudity, it’s as if he’s found the golden egg.  

But, I guess like millions of parents on that Super Bowl Sunday, I had my hands off the breast censor buzzer thinking ‘hey, this is family entertainment’. Somewhere between the third beer and a nosedive into the chip dip there was that little falling out between Janet Jackson’s breast and the network censors.

There I was, unsuspecting, ambushed by an errant boob, trying to explain to my preadolescent children that ‘breast meat’ isn’t just what you have for dinner and that busting out in front of 90 million people is not a good idea.

They called it a ‘wardrobe malfunction.’ Wardrobe malfunction, my underwire bra!Only Victoria’s Secret would intentionally design that sort of breakaway option and I’m sure it’s only meant for the in-home version of half-time entertainment. I’d be willing to bet that any teenage male can give you the exact odds on that sort of malfunctionoccurring naturally, even with fervent prayer: exactly zero.

So now it appears that the only other exposed boobs are the titular executives at CBS, MTV and the NFL who should have seen this coming. And maybe should have considered that not everyone watching the Super Bowl is excited by leather, studs and crotch grabbing—by the players as well as the entertainers. Some of us actually prefer the beer commercials.

But I think through all the boob-la there are some important questions that millions of American women are waiting to have answered and that the media have failed to address: How do you get a 23-year old guy interested enough to rip off the clothes of a woman old enough to be his biological mother? And where do you buy a bustier that manages to keep a 37-year old boob on the north side of gravity when the suspension cable is ripped off by the aforementioned 23-year old? Those are the questions some of us in a slightly older demographic want answered. Enquiring minds want to know. In spite of all, I think Janet Jackson deserves a big round of applause for her starburst nipple ornament. Who knew that jewelry was the answer to covering up those annoying breast-feeding stretch marks? If she tells me this body jewelry comes encrusted with jewels, I might actually have to ask my husband to buy one for me. After all, when my power suit has a malfunction during that important corporate board meeting, I’ll need the dazzling, blinding reflection from the jewels to sear everyone’s retina while I run screaming from the room.