The sunshine is out and so too are the boobs. Yesterday, no
breasts, but today summer's arrived, and they've popped out
overnight, like the hostas my mum gave me.
Everywhere I look there's cleavage - heaving. On the one hand it's
quite a joyous sight, but I really don't want to be caught looking
because I'd feel like a tit, so it's a double edged sword; a case
of what God giveth with one handful he takes with the other. Quiet
appreciation of another woman's cleavage at a glance is fine, but
staring down into it the way blokes do is not.
I used to work with a guy who'd spend entire meetings ignoring my
face, and speaking exclusively to my sweater stretchers - he never
once saw my lips move. I was like a breast ventriloquist. I should
have really wowed him by drinking a glass of water while they sang
him a song.
Believe me fellas, I understand that breasticles are very pretty
an' all, but come on. Get a grip. In fact don't get a grip - stay
the hell away!
Then I had an 'incident'. A woman sat down opposite me at a
meeting, and I knew immediately I had a cleavage situation. She has
a low cut top on, and with every breath she took it appeared that
the fun bags she'd packed were getting ready to vacate her bra. I
began mentally preparing to jump up and throw my cardy over her to
protect her modesty.
To make matters worse my eye caught a flash something right in the
middle of her cleavage. A little bit of metal had poked through the
lace of her bra, and every time she moved it glinted. It was
mesmerising, like a lure, and if I wasn't careful I was going to
get caught - staring.
Look up. Look up. Carol Anne, listen to me! Do not go into the
light!
Dear God, if she caught me she'd think I was staring at her baps.
I tried mainlining custard creams to take my mind off her broken
bra, but it was no good. Even the taste of moist custard powder and
vegetable fat wasn't enough to distract me.
Surely that bit of metal would hurt? It needed to be fixed, forced
back inside the underwire. My eyes flicked down again for only a
second to assess the damage, but this time when I looked up again
she was smiling at me. It was my worst nightmare. She'd caught me
looking. Busted.
