Granted I tried on a dress today that looked like a giant garbage sack with a sash. Back pain? No, not me! Gaps in my button-down shirt? Nope! Concerns that men out on the world are looking at my chest rather than my face when we chat? Uh-uh. I have a secret (or not so much any more) pride in my lack of buzzes (Grandma Sally’s euphemism for those, um-things). I don’t think that busty women are all that blessed. You’re not one of the blessed.īut I actually have another opinion. You’re not busty, and you’re through with the development stage? Move on. Wear more eye makeup, or rat your hair, or do something else to draw attention elsewhere. This is amazing!): Don’t flaunt what you ain’t got. ‘Cause, see, I have a opinion ( Not another one!-Hey, it seems can hear your thoughts too. Yet, despite the judgments of other bra-buyers swimming around me, there I was feeling up bras, pinching the cup to see if it was actually padded or not, and if the tag said the bra wasn’t padded, squeezing the cup to see if it felt like it might be slightly so. But what woman actually buys bras as a gift for someone else?) (I was grateful to that last woman for her vote of confidence in my understanding of my own bosom situation. Oh, that girl over there must be shopping for bras as a present to someone else, because there’s no way she’s duped into thinking she needs one. I wonder what that short person is doing looking for bras flat as a board that one is. I went bra shopping today, and just like Mel Gibson could in What Women Want, I actually heard the thoughts of the women around me: Why is she here? She clearly isn’t in actual need of a bra. That there is a step in the right direction.) (Well at least that list was smaller than the Love list.
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