The sad, sad truth.

I took the Gidgester out for a walk yesterday, and since it was a gorgeous night and I was wearing my running shoes and sweats, I decided to jog a few blocks with her to see if she'd be a good "running" buddy (ha! like I actually ever run!). I decided to go only a few blocks because I wasn't sporting a sports bra, and lemme tell you, I need all the help I can get to defy gravity.

As it turns out, the boob jiggle factor (or in my case, bounce factor) -- gosh, how many hits am I going to get because of that content? -- was not the problem. Of course, I could have used a bra with better "strap-em-in/lash-em-down" strength, but it wasn't too, too bad. I had assumed they would cause problems, but they didn't. Which isn't to say I didn't have problems. Jiggle problems. With other parts.

No, not my ass.

It turns out that my love handles jiggle when I jog. I never really thought about whether I had them, but I guess I do. Because they were jiggling, bouncing, and generally making their presence known as I tried to jog along.

Seriously.

It was slightly uncomfortable, physically. The realization was even more psychologically uncomfortable -- because if my boobs, which are one of my larger assets, didn't cause a bounce problem but my love handles did, well, hell, how big are they anyway? Jeez.

Do they make bras for love handles? Ya' know, I'm not even sure I want to know the answer to that.