A New Bra

This isn’t really a post, I just want to tell you all about my new bra. I finally splurged and bought the ridiculously expensive bra I have been eyeing for a while. It is amazing! Aside from the fact that it does exactly what it was advertised to do, it is also very pretty making the dressing process every morning exponentially more exciting. Each time I get ready to put on my blouse I feel like a kid about to go to Disneyland. Yes, it is that wonderful. Since it is an undergarment and will be concealed, the ribbons and lace are simply fanfare for me to enjoy as I have now taken to bouncing around for a bit before getting dressed. Why don’t they make shirts like this? Why is this wonderfulness only relegated to items I can’t display?

I was talking to a friend about it the other day and she made the point that it looks great, but it is still not a permanent change; the fascination is only present when I am wearing the bra. I have to agree with her, but who would ever know the difference? It is not like anyone is going to investigate my fraudulent enhancements. Not to mention that for anyone who has ever seen me before, the change will be immediately perceived. You would have to be blind not to notice. Especially as I am thrusting my upper torso into your face, because oh my God they are so pretty, LOOK! Yes, just like that. OK, maybe not *just* like that, but you get the idea.

Besides, Tanya has become accustomed over the years to my attempts at shoving cleavage in her face. She does not appreciate it, but has nevertheless grown callous to my seemingly inexplicable desire to expose myself to her. She simply walks away shaking her head at me. She has not seen it yet, but I can imagine her reaction as I greet her with a shimmy and bounce… “Down girl!”

In an attempt to calm myself I shall expand my energy elsewhere. I think this calls for some dancing in the kitchen so my cats can bask in the glory of my new bra. If anything they will be hypnotized by all the ribbon and perhaps plot against it while I sleep.

P.S. Yes, those awkward flailing motions I make are to be considered dancing.

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