This morning, in between the usual foul language, tripping over stuff, including the cat who is permanently underfoot, drinking the coffee helpfully provided by Sidekick, washing while still unconscious, I mistakenly grabbed a lethal combination from the wardrobe - a push up bra and a fitted shirt. Which gapes.
I was getting odd looks all day, the whole look down, look at face, look down routine. I spent my time clutching at my chest as if suddenly suffering from angina, while secretly thinking hey! I got breastage worth checking out! Special.
When I arrived home I thought I'd have a look at my bazoombah display to see what the fuss was about.
Side view. Through the tiny gap in my shirt, I appear to have one strangely enlarged boob, while the other pales into insignificance. Actual melons on view: two. Visible norks: one only. More distressingly, this happens on both sides. The viewing angle doesn't seem to matter. The ribbon decorating the centre of the bra, which looked so damn perky when I bought it, droops sadly between the uneven valley of my pasty cleavage, in the gloom it looks less festive than slightly sinister, like a dribble of tomato soup.
Gah. Foiled again. I can only hope my mutant boobs haven't scarred anyone for life.
(Blogger spellcheck wants me to replace "boobs" with "bob's", and "breastage" with "barracudas". I refuse.)
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