Yesterday, I attended a work function, held at work, and of absolutely ZERO interest to anybody but people who work here. While I was mingling and conversating, I noticed that a co-worker of mine (a man I really admire and am friendly with) addressed his entire half of the conversation to my cleavage.
Inside my head, ten years ago: Oh my GOD, is that guy looking at my rack? He is! He's not even looking at my face - he's just looking at my rack! What a fucking pig! Hellooooooo - I have a face! Why do I even try to talk to guys like this?
Inside my head, yesterday: Oh, my God! Is he looking at my rack? He IS! Why? Do I have something on my shirt? No, I don't - I managed to keep lunch off the front of me today. Then why is he looking at my chest? Well, I *am* wearing the push-up bra and the shirt that makes them look pretty good. And they *are* DDDs. Yep. He's looking at my rack. Awesome.
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4 comments:
Oh, that's just perfect because it's so, so true.
That is awesome. I think my cleavage is about all I have going for me now. Shirts I would have been ashamed to wear 2 years ago are now wardrobe staples.
I don't have much cleavage to show, sadly. But you go, girl!
LOL! That's awesome.
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