Let's make a play date for two rogue business executives.

Judging by their ideas about who should be buying their companies' clothes, they are bound to be besties.

Chip Wilson, co-founder of Lululemon Athletica, maker of $98 yoga pants for thighs that don't touch, meet Michael Jeffries, chief executive of Abercrombie & Fitch, maker of $30 black lace "bralettes" for trendy tweens and teens.

Wilson surprised a few potential customers with his recent remarks about the company's unintentionally see-through yoga pants and problematic fabric: "Some women's bodies just don't work for (our pants)," Wilson said to Bloomberg TV anchor Trish Regan. "It's about the rubbing through the thighs," Wilson said, and "how much pressure is there."

You've ruled out the female population with thighs that touch, Wilson, but you may have hit upon the exact demographic Jeffries is courting!

Jeffries admitted in a 2006 Salon interview that the brand goes after "cool" kids -- attractive and slim -- to wear their clothes, and shuns the rest: "A lot of people don't belong (in our clothes), and they can't belong. Are we exclusionary? Absolutely," he said.

That's putting an awful lot of stock in popular waifs, guys. And the message to girls is profoundly dangerous. Numerous news reports have documented the efforts of some girls and women wanting to achieve a "thigh gap," a space between your legs when you are standing. Pictures of underweight celebrities sporting this gap or jutting hipbones are used as "thinspiration" on message boards and Tumblrs.

I have a difficult time imagining how images associated with starving or seriously ill people can be sexy. But there is a vulnerable population for whom body image has become so warped, this is an ideal.

Both these executives can feel proud of themselves for promoting the same dangerous and unhealthy message.  

Thankfully, the skinnier market share has slimmed their stock prices. Abercrombie reported earlier this month a double-digit drop in quarterly comparable store sales and more than halved its full-year, adjusted profit forecast. Maybe there's room for Lulu to squeeze itself into that profit gap, after all. But the once red-hot, premium-priced yoga apparel has also cooled in light of the company's recall of nearly a quarter of its black Luon yoga pants. The stock price has fallen more than 8 percent in the past month.

It's questionable the extent to which CEO foot-in-mouth disease affects the bottom line. But it doesn't take an official boycott to tarnish a brand. A continuous drip of offensive and absurd comments from the leaders of a company can be enough to change that intangible perception of "exclusive" to "ew" in consumers' minds.

And as parents who care about the way companies market to our children, we can embrace the power of our pocketbooks.

Wilson's latest remarks may have further alienated a core constituency.

DeAnna Shires, a yoga instructor in the Dallas area, used to partner with the local Lulu store when it opened in her area in 2008. The studio she then owned served a diverse population, with many larger clients and those with injuries, she said.

"I was told from someone within (Lulu) that they didn't think my clientele was who they were looking for," she said. Shires stopped buying their clothes after that, and recently started speaking out for others in the yoga community to quit the brand, as well.

"If you are teaching acceptance and community ... are you OK with finding another pair of pants that are more in line with what you're teaching?" she said.

Oh, those pesky yogis with their "yoga values" and "community building," blah blah blah.

Ignore her, guys.

You carry on with your unabashed marketing to the "right" body type in the "right" crowd.

Jeffries, after all, made no apologies when his stores carried thong underwear with "eye candy" written across them for 10-year-old girls.

Not to be outdone, Wilson has blogged that "In the early 1970s, 'the pill' came into being ... Women's lives changed immediately. Men's lives didn't change however and they continued to search for a stay-at-home wife like their mothers. Men did not know how to relate to the new female. Thus came the era of divorces."

That's some interesting marketing.

Do let us know how you get along. We can't imagine a pair more deserving of one another.

When a student fires shots in a school or commits suicide, the search for a bully is close behind.

Nearly everyone who has attended a school can recall someone being teased or picked on, but technology now gives bullies a way to inflict their torment into every part of a victim's personal life beyond the schoolyard.

It's as if the person who calls you names and makes fun of you at school is able to to follow you home, harassing you through texts and continuing to humiliate you in front of your peers on social networks. There are no longer any safe spaces to escape the threat of a determined and technologically armed mean girl or ruthless teen.

There isn't longitudinal data to answer the question of whether bullying is more pervasive now than it was in previous generations. But when it happens, it can be more relentless than before, and the awareness of the severity of damage that bullies can inflict has changed.

Stories like this are more often reported than when we were children:

Last month, seventh-grader Jose Reyes of Sparks, Nev. shot and injured two student and killed a teacher before killing himself. His parents said he had been teased about a speech problem. Students who knew him reportedly said sometimes he would cry and say people were calling him names, according to the L.A. Times. The paper reported that one witness to the shootings recalled Jose saying, "You guys ruined my life, so I'm going to ruin yours."

In September, 12-year-old Rebecca Ann Sedwick of Winter Haven, Fla. committed suicide after she was harassed in person and online by two other girls. The girls, ages 14 and 12, have since been charged with aggravated stalking.

In October, Jordan Lewis, 15, a sophomore at Carterville High School in Illinois, shot himself in the chest and left behind a note, which according to his father, said: "Bullying has caused me to do this. Those of you know who you are."

Nearly one-third of all school-age children are bullied every year, according to PACER's National Bullying Prevention Center. The vast majority find ways to cope, regardless of what emotional or physical scars are left behind. But that statistic is still an indictment.

Several anti-bullying organizations cite the statistic that harassment and bullying have been linked to 75 percent of school shooting incidents. Beyond the risk for violence and self-harm, students who are bullied are more likely to miss school or drop out altogether. Those who bully other children are more likely to have criminal records and a higher suicide risk as adults.

So, how can schools and families more effectively address the issue? After all, there will always be some form of social hierarchies and cliques in institutional settings like schools, prisons and corporations.

First of all, any adult should take reports of bullying seriously. Don't tell a victim to "just ignore it." Most students hide their troubles when they are being bullied, so if a child speaks up, listen and take action.

Keep an eye on your kids' digital worlds. Some school districts have resorted to hiring companies to monitor students' online activities and look for public threats and harassment. While this may invoke fears of Big Brother, students must be held accountable if they are cyberbullying a peer outside of school hours.

Schools should also be careful about the unintended consequences of some anti-bullying videos or programs. Brad Lewis, father of Jordan who committed suicide, has spoken out about an anti-bullying video shown at his son's school shortly before his death. It depicted a bullying victim's suicide, and he feels it may have influenced Jordan's actions.

Dr. Christine Moutier, medical director for the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention, says she absolutely agrees that this is a valid concern. Research and studies have documented the phenomenon of suicide contagion.

"What we've proposed is that rather (than) highlight the stories that show the tragic and negative outcomes, which begin to link suicides and bullying ... choose people and films that model positive outcomes," she said. "It can absolutely be detrimental for a student who is watching that and is already vulnerable and being bullied. We are very worried that it creates added risk."

One of the most important messages we parents can share with our children is the power of the bystander: More than half of bullying situations stop when a peer intervenes.

Five months ago, I couldn't run around our cul-de-sac without feeling like my shins might crack. Pain pierced my ankles and knees after a block of hitting the pavement.

I refused to even describe my efforts as "running." I practiced a sort of continuous forward movement that seemed several degrees shy of a run. I prefaced any conversation about my training by announcing: I'm not a runner.

Under the influence of proselytizing "real" runners, however, I signed up for a half-marathon. I printed out a beginner's training schedule and committed to three times a week of continuous forward movement, plus at least one yoga session during the week.

And so began four and a half months of self-punishment.

The first few weeks, my workouts left me so sore I could barely walk the next day. I really wanted to quit, but I had told nearly everyone I knew that I was going to do this race, and I was too embarrassed to back out. People much older and larger than me lapped me around the neighborhood.

My children asked if I thought I might win the race I was planning to run: Not a chance, I told them. I was trying avoid finishing last.

It's hard to break out of decades of mental conditioning. My parents raised us to compete hard. If there was a measurable standard, we were expected to do far better than average. That easily measurable standard in running -- time -- forced me to confront that I was going to publicly compete in an activity in which I was certain to perform below the curve. That hurt much worse than my blistered feet.

Gradually, a strange thing happened. The distance I could cover with my continuous forward movement got longer. I began to learn what kind of aches and pains I could tolerate and keep moving through, and which meant I needed to slow down. I realized how much was out of my control every time I stepped outside the house to attempt a certain number of miles. Anything from the weather to road construction could impact how long it might take. I asked the experienced runners I knew for advice and shared my frustrations when it felt like I wasn't making any progress.

I didn't have the time to train like I would have wanted, but I did the best I could given my circumstances.

As my race rapidly approached, fitness blogger and mother of three Maria Kang blew up the Internets with a picture she posted of her very fit self in a sports bra and undies, surrounded by her three young children.

Judgment dripped from the "What's your excuse?" caption on her poster. There was an explicit message that anyone who doesn't work out (or look like her highly toned self) was just making excuses. Those of us living outside the fitness bubble know that is far from true: Not everyone has the support to be able to take time for themselves when they have the constant responsibility of caring and providing for young children.

Even though I had made exercise a part of my life since college, I took a complete hiatus for six years when I was pregnant, nursing and taking care of babies.

Those early years of having a newborn, nursing, expecting another child, and then taking care of both a newborn and a toddler left me barely enough time to shower, let alone hit the gym.

My husband worked long hours, and I didn't have my family in town to watch my children at a moment's notice.

Those weren't excuses, Kang. That was my reality.

It wasn't until they were both in preschool that I found my way back to the gym. It was difficult and painful to try to build up the stamina and strength I had lost.

And even after several years of consistently working out, the impending half-marathon filled me with nerves and apprehension.

The day of the race, I saw the thousands of people of all ages and abilities show up at the starting line. Who were these amazing, ordinary people about to push themselves so hard mile after mile?

And who were these thousands of amazing people volunteering along the route, handing out water and snacks, ringing cowbells, cheering and shouting encouragement? There were rows of strangers holding their hands out for high-fives and waving signs that made me smile: "You run better than the government." "Getting up early to make this sign wasn't easy, either." "When do we get to see the bulls?" "Strip tease by Channing Tatum ahead." (That was a lie, for the record.)

I had been wrong to worry about finishing last. As much as I admired and was in awe of those elite athletes finishing in front, I was inspired by those bringing up the rear. I have no idea what their journey was to get to that finish line.

But I knew where I had started, and I knew what it took for me to finish -- to run -- 13.1 miles.

Approaching the finish line, I spotted my favorite sign.

It read: "I'm proud of you, perfect stranger."