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“So, I was bra-shopping with my wife the other day…”

Nothing good can come from a post that starts with that sentence.

But it’s true, kind of. I really was bra-shopping with my wife, but it wasn’t exactly my idea. You married guys will get my drift. There we were, traipsing through the local Target on the way to the produce section, when suddenly my life (and my wife) took an unexpected right turn into the lingerie section. “Oh,” she says, “I need a new bra.”

Words to chill any man’s heart.

Guys generally have two choices here: (a) wander over to the sporting goods section, the hardware aisle, or some other male-affirming area of the store, or (b) stand in the aisle just outside the section, nervously shuffling your feet and trying not to stare too long at the daintiness all around you. Some guys may choose option (c), which is to wade in with the wife and gleefully compare the purple demibras with the ivory underwires, but those kinds of fellows don’t tend to be married much, if you get my drift.

Since I wasn’t in the mood to make the Target trip an all-afternoon excursion, I chose option (b) in the interests of time management. I spent the next few minutes trying not to make eye contact with the other female lingerie shoppers (nothing interests me less than knowing what kinds of underthingies appeal to a perfect stranger). Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of studying the workmanship of my shopping cart, my wife emerged from between the peekaboos and teddies with the object of her quest. She tosses it in the kiddie seat and I spent the rest of the expedition trying to ignore the rumpled bit of tricot goodness staring me in the face.

Normally, I try not to pay much attention to brassiere tags, mainly because looking at pictures of scantily-clad women tends to be hazardous to my well-being as a married man. But something stuck out at me from this particular tag (no, something else). This particular variant of the “Just My Size” line came with a new feature: Ultrasonic No-Stitch Lift and Support.

Utrasonics? Aren’t those outlawed by the Geneva Convention? After a quick look to make sure the coast was clear, I quickly felt along the edge of the cup, but I couldn’t locate anything that felt like an ultrasonic emitter (although I did earn an odd look from my wife). Hmm… not only was it “ultrasonic”, but the components had been miniaturized to the point of undetectability. I was willing to bet it would fool a metal detector.

So, women are now carrying around ultrasonic weaponry in their brassieres, eh? I always knew that the female bust was one of the most potent weapons known to man, but this is a bit over the top, even in these terror-ridden times. Although I can see some limited uses (dads giving teenage girls the ultimate in date-rape deterrents), I can see nothing but trouble coming of this. I mean, if a certain lady doesn’t want me staring at her stuff, all she has to do is slap me. There’s no need to cook my internal organs from the inside, or whatever it is that ultrasonics do.

I’m wondering if the male segment of the population will soon have their own offensive underwear. I probably wouldn’t wear them — I’m not so certain I would want anything sharp, explosive, or electronic that close to my important bits. Besides, some would say that male underwear is already offensive enough as it is.

Remember, fellas. Next time you admire that beauty on the beach, just keep this in mind — that pair of cannons you’re ogling may be loaded, and they’re pointed right at you.

Just back away from the boobs, and we’ll all be fine.