Curious called me the other day and told me that he wants me to be his girlfriend.
OK.
And I was all like, we don't even know each other! We have never met.
He said he knows all he needs to know about me.
I asked him my last name. He didn't know it.
I told him he was rushing things. He disagreed. I asked him if he was lonely. He said no. I told him I am, but I still want to make a level-headed decision. He said he respected that.
I expressed to him that we need to meet up and actually hang out. We may not even like each other after we hang out. He agreed. We will soon be comparing schedules to see when the best time is.
This whole thing is weird to me. All this time I have wanted someone to really like me, and one seems to really like me genuinely, and I don't get it. I guess the best way to put it is that it's foreign to me. It feels...off.
Funny, I can tell when someone is running game on my friends. Not sure when someone may or may not be running game on me.
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Thanks Bunches!
Everybody, thanks for your prayers for the flight! I arrived to my destination smoothly. Now, I solicit your magical prayers yet again for a trip next week. Thank you my ordained, blessed little readers!
UnderNOwear
After much deliberation, I have decided that I am over underwear.
To be honest, I have never been a fan. I mean, I sort of like bras, but that is because I need them. Kind of don't like I sort of like water, but I guzzle it, because I need it to live. Bras for me are a necessity, and after my quite recent experiment (which I blogged about) I have decided that bras are on the food, clothing, and shelter list. Undies not so much.
My history with panties has been a long and tangled drama. I have always hated shopping for them, usually because good ones in my size are EXPENSIVE and really pretty. I can never decide which ones I want. Because they are so pricey, I would usually wear them until my grandmother was requesting to use them as dish rags!
By high school, a certain Sisqo chart topper had me experimenting with the thong. I stocked up on them because they were sooo cheap, even in my size. However, my shirts were always rolling up, exposing them. I also found them to be irritating, and have since connected them to my bitchy teen mood swings. However, the thong and I didn't part ways until college, when a combination of the wrong size and a HOT New Orleans afternoon lead me to have to CUT the thong off. That was the last string.
So not too long ago I found out that they sell my size panties at Wal-Mart- five in a pack for like ten bucks. What a deal, right? I started off with boy shorts, which gave me flashbacks to the Great Thong Disaster of 2005, so I went on to granny panties which not only left me feeling un-sexy but old and gross.
Since I was like five, I have wanted to break up with panties, but I couldn't. I would wake-up happy, thinking they had dumped me, only to find that my mom had tucked a pair under my Carebear undershirt. They were like an ugly boyfriend that everyone wanted me to date because he was nice that I could not wait to ditch! Finally, at 25, after this uncomfortable, suffocating, restraining boyfriend has been putting me through the motions for more than half my life, I am finally old enough to say enough is enough! Leaving only a few pairs in my closet(for technical purposes), I am giving my panties their walking papers. Maybe later in life, when things are less complicated in a better place and time, we will reunite. But for now, I am keeping my options open. Faithful readers, I invite you to do the same. Please, let me know how it goes!
To be honest, I have never been a fan. I mean, I sort of like bras, but that is because I need them. Kind of don't like I sort of like water, but I guzzle it, because I need it to live. Bras for me are a necessity, and after my quite recent experiment (which I blogged about) I have decided that bras are on the food, clothing, and shelter list. Undies not so much.
My history with panties has been a long and tangled drama. I have always hated shopping for them, usually because good ones in my size are EXPENSIVE and really pretty. I can never decide which ones I want. Because they are so pricey, I would usually wear them until my grandmother was requesting to use them as dish rags!
By high school, a certain Sisqo chart topper had me experimenting with the thong. I stocked up on them because they were sooo cheap, even in my size. However, my shirts were always rolling up, exposing them. I also found them to be irritating, and have since connected them to my bitchy teen mood swings. However, the thong and I didn't part ways until college, when a combination of the wrong size and a HOT New Orleans afternoon lead me to have to CUT the thong off. That was the last string.
So not too long ago I found out that they sell my size panties at Wal-Mart- five in a pack for like ten bucks. What a deal, right? I started off with boy shorts, which gave me flashbacks to the Great Thong Disaster of 2005, so I went on to granny panties which not only left me feeling un-sexy but old and gross.
Since I was like five, I have wanted to break up with panties, but I couldn't. I would wake-up happy, thinking they had dumped me, only to find that my mom had tucked a pair under my Carebear undershirt. They were like an ugly boyfriend that everyone wanted me to date because he was nice that I could not wait to ditch! Finally, at 25, after this uncomfortable, suffocating, restraining boyfriend has been putting me through the motions for more than half my life, I am finally old enough to say enough is enough! Leaving only a few pairs in my closet(for technical purposes), I am giving my panties their walking papers. Maybe later in life, when things are less complicated in a better place and time, we will reunite. But for now, I am keeping my options open. Faithful readers, I invite you to do the same. Please, let me know how it goes!
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Brownie Says...
Brownie says that I am not ready for a relationship because I am selfish.
How did he come to this?
Well, it started when I confessed to him that I can't stand it when men cry! In my opinion, if a man is going to cry openly to me, he might as well cut off his testes and give them to me. I told him about the night Sorta Beau cried because he found out his baby wasn't his. I was so uncomfortable, that, as he balled, I was brainstorming ways to hang up. Of course, there are exceptions. Parents dying, severe burns, a new HIV diagnosis. Outside of that, I would prefer if you dry your eyes guys and cry in the privacy of your room, where I am not present.
That led us to talk about talking about your problems to your partner. Not a favorite of mine either. If I am working hard to create a carefree, fun, relaxing home environment for us, why would you bring in bullish from the outside world to make our house all tense? Go back to whoever or whatever made you mad and fix it, and in return, I will not make you listen to my issues.
In short, Brownie doesn't agree.
He believes men and women should be friends in a relationship. I believe I have enough friends that give me stress, and my man should be someone I can chill with, not an additional problem.
Brownies conclusion: I am immature and should not embark on a relationship as of yet. I don't get where he is coming from.
How did he come to this?
Well, it started when I confessed to him that I can't stand it when men cry! In my opinion, if a man is going to cry openly to me, he might as well cut off his testes and give them to me. I told him about the night Sorta Beau cried because he found out his baby wasn't his. I was so uncomfortable, that, as he balled, I was brainstorming ways to hang up. Of course, there are exceptions. Parents dying, severe burns, a new HIV diagnosis. Outside of that, I would prefer if you dry your eyes guys and cry in the privacy of your room, where I am not present.
That led us to talk about talking about your problems to your partner. Not a favorite of mine either. If I am working hard to create a carefree, fun, relaxing home environment for us, why would you bring in bullish from the outside world to make our house all tense? Go back to whoever or whatever made you mad and fix it, and in return, I will not make you listen to my issues.
In short, Brownie doesn't agree.
He believes men and women should be friends in a relationship. I believe I have enough friends that give me stress, and my man should be someone I can chill with, not an additional problem.
Brownies conclusion: I am immature and should not embark on a relationship as of yet. I don't get where he is coming from.
OA
"Have you ever thought of going to an Overeaters Anonymous class?"
I was about two seconds away from going to sleep in the hot tub at the gym. "What?"
"I go," the woman said, an older White woman with gray hair and distinct gray streaks in her eyebrows.
I was quiet. I did not know how to respond. I was more annoyed by her interrupting my sleep than I was that she asked me such a weird question.
"We have the classes every Sunday at 5pm at the hospital. It's free of charge. All they ask is that you maybe donate $2 so that they can continue to rent the room."
"Overeaters Anonymous," I repeated.
"Yes ma'am, I am an overeater," she said proudly.
"These meeting...will there be food?"
"No!" She laughed. I laughed. I was not offended by this woman, probably because I am an overeater and because old women have said more out of pocket things to me. Plus, she had a kind spirit.
She described the group to me, a bunch of fatties, former fatties, and binge eating, deathly thin people who come together once a week for support.
Right now, I am not really thinking about how I may benefit from this class. I am a writer. I am going for the cool stories I am going to hear. The man who overate as a kid because he was lonely. The lady that overeats because she can't get a date. I also can't wait to openly blame my mom for my fatness, something I have always wanted to do!
Yes, I think that this is going to be a fun and maybe even beneficial experience. I will keep you posted.
I was about two seconds away from going to sleep in the hot tub at the gym. "What?"
"I go," the woman said, an older White woman with gray hair and distinct gray streaks in her eyebrows.
I was quiet. I did not know how to respond. I was more annoyed by her interrupting my sleep than I was that she asked me such a weird question.
"We have the classes every Sunday at 5pm at the hospital. It's free of charge. All they ask is that you maybe donate $2 so that they can continue to rent the room."
"Overeaters Anonymous," I repeated.
"Yes ma'am, I am an overeater," she said proudly.
"These meeting...will there be food?"
"No!" She laughed. I laughed. I was not offended by this woman, probably because I am an overeater and because old women have said more out of pocket things to me. Plus, she had a kind spirit.
She described the group to me, a bunch of fatties, former fatties, and binge eating, deathly thin people who come together once a week for support.
Right now, I am not really thinking about how I may benefit from this class. I am a writer. I am going for the cool stories I am going to hear. The man who overate as a kid because he was lonely. The lady that overeats because she can't get a date. I also can't wait to openly blame my mom for my fatness, something I have always wanted to do!
Yes, I think that this is going to be a fun and maybe even beneficial experience. I will keep you posted.
Monday, April 19, 2010
In With The New
So Curious George FINALLY called me, but I have to say, I was not impressed or excited.
How was I feeling? Well, I was annoyed that he felt he could just call me after his stream of endless dead-end texts. I was irritated that because he never has much to say, the burden of conversation fell on me, and I was FURIOUS that he thought Betty White was the name of Betty White's character on The Golden Girls! Um, there are people on Earth that have never heard of Jesus, but even people in the Peruvian Wetlands that don't have access to phones, Internet, or even mail services know that Betty White's character's name was ROSE NYLAND!
Conclusion: I need a new beau. Nothing serious, just someone fresh and cool that I can phone cake with. It's Spring ya'll! Love is in the air...so they tell me. Birds are chirpin' and bees are gettin' it on. And it's not like I don't like Curious, but I want to actually be courted and entertained by a fella that is interesting and will make an effort to see me and CALL ME WHEN HE SAYS HE IS GOING TO CALL ME! My God, it's like pulling teeth these days to find a brotha to fill even the simplest of requirements. I don't even want to walk in the sistah's shoes that is daring to look for something committed.
The only thing about finding a new beau is the pain in the ass of finding a new beau. Men on websites only want sex. Men out and about are weird. Men your friends know all like them and for some reason, they can't tell. Eye roll. What is a sweet, adorable chub to do?
I have not figured that out yet. But I can say that I am excited about finding someone new.
How was I feeling? Well, I was annoyed that he felt he could just call me after his stream of endless dead-end texts. I was irritated that because he never has much to say, the burden of conversation fell on me, and I was FURIOUS that he thought Betty White was the name of Betty White's character on The Golden Girls! Um, there are people on Earth that have never heard of Jesus, but even people in the Peruvian Wetlands that don't have access to phones, Internet, or even mail services know that Betty White's character's name was ROSE NYLAND!
Conclusion: I need a new beau. Nothing serious, just someone fresh and cool that I can phone cake with. It's Spring ya'll! Love is in the air...so they tell me. Birds are chirpin' and bees are gettin' it on. And it's not like I don't like Curious, but I want to actually be courted and entertained by a fella that is interesting and will make an effort to see me and CALL ME WHEN HE SAYS HE IS GOING TO CALL ME! My God, it's like pulling teeth these days to find a brotha to fill even the simplest of requirements. I don't even want to walk in the sistah's shoes that is daring to look for something committed.
The only thing about finding a new beau is the pain in the ass of finding a new beau. Men on websites only want sex. Men out and about are weird. Men your friends know all like them and for some reason, they can't tell. Eye roll. What is a sweet, adorable chub to do?
I have not figured that out yet. But I can say that I am excited about finding someone new.
NEW BLOG!!
Hello all! I have a new blog called Political Gluttony. I have always wanted to write more about my political views on here, but I didn't want to lose readers, lol, so I created something totally different on Tumblr. Check me out when you get a chance and let me know what you think! http://politicalgluttony.tumblr.com. Thanks guys!
Monday, April 12, 2010
Plane Pain
It is time for me to do the traveling for my job again, and it's back to the same ol' bullshit. The other day I worked the elliptical so hard to burn some fat before my flight that I felt like I was going to throw up! I don't think that I have gained weight. I can still fit all my old clothes, but that doesn't say anything. By the grace of God I am still able to SQUEEZE into this T-shirt I got in the 8th grade.
Oh, woe is me! I hate having to worry about this! I can't honestly say that I hate being fat. Probably because it's all I know and because I'm really cute. But I do hate some of the bull that comes with it, like not being able to buy cute, cheap bras from Wal-Mart and having to worry about being kicked off planes.
My friends have told me not to worry about it because I got on last year, no problems. But it's still a scary thought, and unfortunately, they simply are not in the position to even wrap their sweet heads around it.
So I solicit my readers to pray for me! Pay that come Thursday morn', I get on that plane no matter how bad it HURTS, no one gives me any shit, and I have a fun and safe trip. Thanks bunches, and I will let you know either way.
Oh, woe is me! I hate having to worry about this! I can't honestly say that I hate being fat. Probably because it's all I know and because I'm really cute. But I do hate some of the bull that comes with it, like not being able to buy cute, cheap bras from Wal-Mart and having to worry about being kicked off planes.
My friends have told me not to worry about it because I got on last year, no problems. But it's still a scary thought, and unfortunately, they simply are not in the position to even wrap their sweet heads around it.
So I solicit my readers to pray for me! Pay that come Thursday morn', I get on that plane no matter how bad it HURTS, no one gives me any shit, and I have a fun and safe trip. Thanks bunches, and I will let you know either way.
Taxed Out
Can I whine for a sec?
I HATE TAX TIME!
I don't even understand why I have to participate in this ish! I don't make any money! It's not like the economy will collapse if I don't file! I hate going to those free ghetto spots where people get into fights over who's next with the ONE tax agent. I hate that my return is always too small to get anything cool. I wouldn't file at all if I wasn't scared I would end up like Ron Isley. Ugh, tomorrow, I have to go sit amongst my ghetto brethren, waiting to be mocked by some tax dweeb who is going to impatiently ask me questions that I do not know the answer to.
WHY ME?!
Why can't I ever have a ton of money to have some nerd do this ish for me?! Why, why, why? I am going to be so scared of losing my spot in line that I won't even be able to pee...or eat?! I wish that Ghost Writer could do this for me. Man, I am soooo annoyed.
I HATE TAX TIME!
I don't even understand why I have to participate in this ish! I don't make any money! It's not like the economy will collapse if I don't file! I hate going to those free ghetto spots where people get into fights over who's next with the ONE tax agent. I hate that my return is always too small to get anything cool. I wouldn't file at all if I wasn't scared I would end up like Ron Isley. Ugh, tomorrow, I have to go sit amongst my ghetto brethren, waiting to be mocked by some tax dweeb who is going to impatiently ask me questions that I do not know the answer to.
WHY ME?!
Why can't I ever have a ton of money to have some nerd do this ish for me?! Why, why, why? I am going to be so scared of losing my spot in line that I won't even be able to pee...or eat?! I wish that Ghost Writer could do this for me. Man, I am soooo annoyed.
Friday, April 9, 2010
Baby Love
I have a crush on a boy that works at the grocery store near my house.
Boy. Yikes, it feels weird even writing it. He is about 19 and I find myself oddly attracted to him. He is nothing like what I am usually interested in, starting with his age. He is shorter than me, Latino with an old, Black sounding voice. He needs to shave. He needs a haircut. He rubs me as lazy, running from the check-out line any free second he gets to go outside, smoke, and talk on his cell. I know that he did not finish high school, but I can not figure out if it was because he dropped out or because he was kicked out. I know, I know. I can really pick a winner.
Don't worry, I have no intention of telling him of my feelings. I just think he's cute, I'm old enough to be his babysitter, and the whole thing would just be weird. Plus, if I told every guy I thought was cute he was cute I would be hoarse by noon, Monday-Friday.
Today, while he tossed my purchases into a plastic grocery bag, I realized what in him I am attracted to: how careless he is. I don't get the feeling that he cares about his future. I don't get the feeling that he cares about getting an education or keeping his job or getting a beau or any of the things that CONSUME my trains of thought. In short, he is just young and dumb. He's allotting himself space to be young and dumb. Watching him stare blankly at the yellow wristband he'd forgotten to take off from whatever party he went to last night, I wonder if he knows what a luxury that is: to be young and dumb.
Boy. Yikes, it feels weird even writing it. He is about 19 and I find myself oddly attracted to him. He is nothing like what I am usually interested in, starting with his age. He is shorter than me, Latino with an old, Black sounding voice. He needs to shave. He needs a haircut. He rubs me as lazy, running from the check-out line any free second he gets to go outside, smoke, and talk on his cell. I know that he did not finish high school, but I can not figure out if it was because he dropped out or because he was kicked out. I know, I know. I can really pick a winner.
Don't worry, I have no intention of telling him of my feelings. I just think he's cute, I'm old enough to be his babysitter, and the whole thing would just be weird. Plus, if I told every guy I thought was cute he was cute I would be hoarse by noon, Monday-Friday.
Today, while he tossed my purchases into a plastic grocery bag, I realized what in him I am attracted to: how careless he is. I don't get the feeling that he cares about his future. I don't get the feeling that he cares about getting an education or keeping his job or getting a beau or any of the things that CONSUME my trains of thought. In short, he is just young and dumb. He's allotting himself space to be young and dumb. Watching him stare blankly at the yellow wristband he'd forgotten to take off from whatever party he went to last night, I wonder if he knows what a luxury that is: to be young and dumb.
Thursday, April 8, 2010
The Curious Schedule
Friday, April 2- 12:27am: Curious texts me "Are you free to talk?" I would have been, had I been awake.
Saturday, April 3- 6:58am: Curious texts me "Are u up?" I think we know the answer to that. Sometime later that day, I call him. Sent to his voice mail message which is that annoying Drake and Timbaland song. That night, he texts me "Are you free?" I call him, I get Drake.
Easter- 2:08am: Texts "U up?" I actually am. I text him to call me. He doesn't.
Easter-3:17pm: As I relax after church receive text "Wat are u doin sexy?" I tell him nothing and ask him what he is doing in a text. No response.
Tuesday, April 6- 12:15am: "Call me" he texts. Don't like the demanding tone, so I don't.
Wednesday, April 7-6:37pm: "Wat are u doin bay?" I tell him in a text that I am just surfing the net. He texts "Wen can I talk to u i miss u its been so long?" I let him know that I am not that busy and he can call me, suspicious that he just wants phone sex. Find myself wanting to talk to him while being annoyed with him for this texting bullshit. His response: "Why don't you call me anymore?" At this moment I am over this phone tag nonsense and continue to talk to my friend Fran, enjoying a fun conversation. I text him that I was calling him and was getting Drake. I am secretly excited that he chucked Drake for his own voice.
Wednesday, April 7- 6:55pm: "I'm on my way home im gon call u na min" I don't believe him and don't really want to talk to him anyway. Enjoying Frances. I don't expect him to call. He doesn't.
Saturday, April 3- 6:58am: Curious texts me "Are u up?" I think we know the answer to that. Sometime later that day, I call him. Sent to his voice mail message which is that annoying Drake and Timbaland song. That night, he texts me "Are you free?" I call him, I get Drake.
Easter- 2:08am: Texts "U up?" I actually am. I text him to call me. He doesn't.
Easter-3:17pm: As I relax after church receive text "Wat are u doin sexy?" I tell him nothing and ask him what he is doing in a text. No response.
Tuesday, April 6- 12:15am: "Call me" he texts. Don't like the demanding tone, so I don't.
Wednesday, April 7-6:37pm: "Wat are u doin bay?" I tell him in a text that I am just surfing the net. He texts "Wen can I talk to u i miss u its been so long?" I let him know that I am not that busy and he can call me, suspicious that he just wants phone sex. Find myself wanting to talk to him while being annoyed with him for this texting bullshit. His response: "Why don't you call me anymore?" At this moment I am over this phone tag nonsense and continue to talk to my friend Fran, enjoying a fun conversation. I text him that I was calling him and was getting Drake. I am secretly excited that he chucked Drake for his own voice.
Wednesday, April 7- 6:55pm: "I'm on my way home im gon call u na min" I don't believe him and don't really want to talk to him anyway. Enjoying Frances. I don't expect him to call. He doesn't.
Tori
I can not remember if I have ever mentioned Tori to you, the 5 foot even Virgin Island boy that I was foolish enough to give my phone number to while waiting on the bus in a very shifty part of Atlanta.
This part of the A is so shifty that I am almost positive that upon initially seeing me, a young female alone on a bus bench, he probably thought that I was a prostitute. This neighborhood has its fair share, believe me.
Anywho, I was feeling bad about myself because I had gotten my feelings hurt at my internship, and I just wanted to go home, eat some Edy's, and go to sleep. He comes along, tells me that "my Afro is an aphrodisiac" and I give him my digits.
That was almost three years ago.
Since then, this brotha has called me numerous times from different numbers. I know this, because each one is saved in my phone under "DON'T ANSWER." He always says, "Hey, this is Tori" like I am supposed to be happy or remember clearly who he is. Sadly, after tons of dead-in calls, I do.
I finally thought I had successfully tossed him when he called me a few months ago and I told him I didn't want to talk to him anymore.
"Why? Do you have a man?" He is so small and thin that he sounded like a hurt four-year-old. Luckily, Sorta Beau was still a fixture in my life at that time, so I was like "Yep' even though we were not at all serious (were we ever, I still don't know?).
When he called he was always on some left-field stuff. Once he was like "I was talking to a girl and there is now an eviction notice on her door. Do you still think she lives here? I wrote my number on the notice, just in case." Then, out of the blue, he called me on another occasion. "So, can I come over today? Do you live with your mom? Would she be cool with me coming over?" He even texted me. "Do you know anyone who needs a roommate?"
So, after the boyfriend deal, I was sure I had dodged him for good until he called me relatively recently. I can't give an exact time, seeing that I was half asleep. I pick up the phone and I see I have a missed call. Groggy, I call the number back.
"Who is this?" I croak.
"Tori."
I hung up. I'm sorry, but he is annoying, and he was messing with my nap time. Hopefully, he finds another chub to annoy someplace.
This part of the A is so shifty that I am almost positive that upon initially seeing me, a young female alone on a bus bench, he probably thought that I was a prostitute. This neighborhood has its fair share, believe me.
Anywho, I was feeling bad about myself because I had gotten my feelings hurt at my internship, and I just wanted to go home, eat some Edy's, and go to sleep. He comes along, tells me that "my Afro is an aphrodisiac" and I give him my digits.
That was almost three years ago.
Since then, this brotha has called me numerous times from different numbers. I know this, because each one is saved in my phone under "DON'T ANSWER." He always says, "Hey, this is Tori" like I am supposed to be happy or remember clearly who he is. Sadly, after tons of dead-in calls, I do.
I finally thought I had successfully tossed him when he called me a few months ago and I told him I didn't want to talk to him anymore.
"Why? Do you have a man?" He is so small and thin that he sounded like a hurt four-year-old. Luckily, Sorta Beau was still a fixture in my life at that time, so I was like "Yep' even though we were not at all serious (were we ever, I still don't know?).
When he called he was always on some left-field stuff. Once he was like "I was talking to a girl and there is now an eviction notice on her door. Do you still think she lives here? I wrote my number on the notice, just in case." Then, out of the blue, he called me on another occasion. "So, can I come over today? Do you live with your mom? Would she be cool with me coming over?" He even texted me. "Do you know anyone who needs a roommate?"
So, after the boyfriend deal, I was sure I had dodged him for good until he called me relatively recently. I can't give an exact time, seeing that I was half asleep. I pick up the phone and I see I have a missed call. Groggy, I call the number back.
"Who is this?" I croak.
"Tori."
I hung up. I'm sorry, but he is annoying, and he was messing with my nap time. Hopefully, he finds another chub to annoy someplace.
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
Bye-Bye Bra
After getting out of the pool at the gym I tried something that I have not done since I was in the second grade: I didn't put on a bra.
I know, I know. For a woman of my age and size this is a definite no-no. I would not suggest if you are anything above a B cup that you try this at home. I didn't plan on leaving the gym without my bra, but I have to say, I just DID NOT feel like putting it on. I was still damp, I was ready to go home, and on mistake, I had walked out of the shower without putting it on, and I didn't want to expose innocent bystanders to my boobs in the locker area.
I have to say, I was truly surprised with the end result. In my black summer dress, my boobs almost looked perky. Without hard nipples, you could not even tell that they were pointing south!
Walking into the grocery store after the gym, I felt liberated. That bra burning nonsense of the 60s actually made sense to me as I tossed a package of chicken legs in my cart. I liked the way it felt to have my boobs jiggling freely in public. I actually felt more confident than I do in the super support bras that a woman of my...stature is forced to wear.
So that day I decided: no more bras! I kicked myself for having bought a $40 bra the day before from Lane Bryant. I packed my gym bag, minus the bra, and proudly pranced to the pool. Afterward, I put on my gray summer dress, looked in the mirror, and had to stop myself from screaming. In gray, my boobs were a totally different story. I'd say an honest one. The girls dangled lifelessly from my chest like two half-empty two liters.
In shame, I exited the gym and headed to the store, feeling like EVERYONE was staring at me.
Needless to say, my bra is securely packed in my gym bag. I've learned my lesson.
I know, I know. For a woman of my age and size this is a definite no-no. I would not suggest if you are anything above a B cup that you try this at home. I didn't plan on leaving the gym without my bra, but I have to say, I just DID NOT feel like putting it on. I was still damp, I was ready to go home, and on mistake, I had walked out of the shower without putting it on, and I didn't want to expose innocent bystanders to my boobs in the locker area.
I have to say, I was truly surprised with the end result. In my black summer dress, my boobs almost looked perky. Without hard nipples, you could not even tell that they were pointing south!
Walking into the grocery store after the gym, I felt liberated. That bra burning nonsense of the 60s actually made sense to me as I tossed a package of chicken legs in my cart. I liked the way it felt to have my boobs jiggling freely in public. I actually felt more confident than I do in the super support bras that a woman of my...stature is forced to wear.
So that day I decided: no more bras! I kicked myself for having bought a $40 bra the day before from Lane Bryant. I packed my gym bag, minus the bra, and proudly pranced to the pool. Afterward, I put on my gray summer dress, looked in the mirror, and had to stop myself from screaming. In gray, my boobs were a totally different story. I'd say an honest one. The girls dangled lifelessly from my chest like two half-empty two liters.
In shame, I exited the gym and headed to the store, feeling like EVERYONE was staring at me.
Needless to say, my bra is securely packed in my gym bag. I've learned my lesson.
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