Crucial Boomer Gal Alert: Bra Rage is even more widespread than originally feared.

Since I wrote I will attend a “Bra-fitting Event’’ only after men get invited to “Boxers and Briefs Events,’’ other boomer gals have declared they feel the same way.

And evidently, Bra Rage goes far beyond my modest rants.

These boomer gals also demand to know why bras cost so much when they involve so little.

Men want to know, too. First in line: my husband.

A bra I got last year cost nearly twice what he paid for his first car.

When I brought it home, he just sat in the chair, staring. He was either fondly remembering that $25, broken down, 1965 aqua Malibu with the leaky windshield, or he couldn’t get over the bra price tag.

With this much turmoil over bras, who knows what could happen?

Riot? Revolt? Or, dare I suggest, a coup d’cup?

God help us all.

I do not mean to stir the masses further, but an alarming update must be reported.

Just hours after the first bra column was published, a postcard arrived selling cream to invigorate and revive the skin of my “decollete’’ area. (Please imagine me saying that while holding my nose and doing a bad French accent.)

I never took French in high school because I needed a free period while boys were doing laps on the outside track.

I stood guard at the windows with my Catholic school accomplice and constant companion, Mary-Something, whom you met previously and will meet again.

But after years of reading bad romance novels, I know the “decollete’’ has to do with the place between your neck and your bust.

More research (12 seconds on Google) reveals you can buy “decollete pads’’ you tape on your chest at night to pull the skin tight and cure wrinkles.

“The aging process stops now!’’ one proclaims.

Yeah. Right.

How good is the “decollete’’ area going to look when you roll over wearing a sticky pad and a blanket gets stuck on your chest?

Anyway, the postcard for the cream showed a young woman and her cleavage.

Neither were a day over 19.

This was obvious, even without my reading glasses. And the teenager looked familiar. She models every Mother-of-the-Bride outfit in every bridal magazine on Earth.

The cream, her sales pitch went, was the “decollete’’ fountain of youth.
Here is a Boomer Gal bulletin for the cream and pad people: I have not spent a fortune on scarves, turtlenecks and big necklaces to ditch them for some stupid stuff that won’t work anyway.

Besides, my lower “decollete’’ hasn’t revealed itself in public lately and won’t anytime soon.

So my devoted Bra Ragers, take heart.

I remain committed to equality in marketing.

I will not use these products until we see miracle creams and pads for a middle-aged man’s slighty saggy “decollete.’’