This morning in my haste to drink coffee before fully opening my eyes, I got up and came bounding down the stairs. Much to the horror of the paper boy, who was standing directly in front of my front door, my boob flopped out of my tank top and into plain view.
Now I'm not talking about a cute flop, like flopsy, mopsy and cottontail. I'm talking about the kind of flop a slab of whale blubber would make if peeled off the side of Moby Dick.
My boobs are not getting any younger you know. And after nursing four kids while driving..(in the front seat) while my babies mainly rode in car seats (in the back seat)...ummm...(yeah, that's right, you're getting a mental picture now aren't you?) my boobs are floppy in a bad way.
The paper boy will probably end up with an A cup woman because this crazy fear of big flopping breasts will follow him for the rest of his life.
I'm only grateful that he didn't go home and tell his Holy Roller mother because then I would be treated to a burning cross this evening,adorned with Playtex Cross Your Heart bras while women in polyester dresses and houseshoes chanted and made threats of my imminent descent into hell.
I love living in the Bible belt...
Yep...I'm thinking I need a coffee maker in the bedroom...
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