And you thought you had trouble with the NSA! Ah, Dear Reader, you are living in a fool’s paradise! It turns out that you and your significant other are now being ratted out by your undies.

The comfortable seclusion afforded by a cheap motel room or the backseat of your Prius has now been breached by a perfidious brassiere.

Greek marketing group OgilvyOne Athens has developed the ‘Tweeting Bra’ as part of a campaign from Nestle Fitness for October’s Breast Cancer Awareness Month in Greece. The idea is that every time a female unclasps her stopsemfromfloppin, a transmitter hidden in the clasp will send out a tweet announcing that she is about to perform a breast self-examination, thus encouraging others of her gender to do the same. Admittedly, a laudable purpose.

Sadly, all technology has its dark side. Little do the promoters of this latest gift of modern technology realize that the device has an additional application as a digital chastity belt. Your paramour’s parents will surreptitiously substitute a tweeting bra, cleverly camouflaged with black net and red frills, for her normal undergarment. Off the two of you go, waving farewell and exuding innocence. Then, there the two of you are, in the initial stages of an act of amorous dalliance, when the tweeter sends a message to the parents. In mere seconds, an SUV parks next to your love nest, a battering ram breaks down the motel room or car door, and your and your inamorata’s irate parents drag both of you out into the open and beat you with bamboo canes.

Shit.

It gets worse. Mayor Bloomberg will get wind of this device. I’m sure, Dear Reader, that you recall Hizzoner’s campaign to encourage breast feeding by hiding all the baby formula in the maternity wards of city hospitals. Mr. Bloomberg will commission a modification of the clasp-rat to be installed in all nursing bras sold in The Big Apple, which will tweet whenever one of the nursing panels is opened and the little bundle of joy starts slurping up sustenance. I can see it now (no, not her knockers, you pervert!). If tweets are not received at the appropriate intervals, a white van will pull up next to you (even if you are not in your home, since your cell phone will provide the City fathers with your location), you will be restrained, and your mammary gland will be shoved into the little monster’s maw.

I wonder when the tweeting machine will be incorporated into an athletic supporter?