Damn you people.
So today I put on my ONE pretty bra because I get to play grown up and meet with a client. I didn’t realize, though, the busted-ness of this shirt. I somehow managed to forget that when I wear this bra I have cleavage. And by cleavage I mean I feel like I’m being choked by two fat fisted babies clutching for my wind-pipe.
I take The Girls up to the cashier to order a small sandwhich. Cashier: Tall, Young, Male, Single. Me: Scarred from two children being ripped outta my gut, not as thin as I once was, possibly bleeding at this minute but I couldn’t be sure… changes stance… yes bleeding at this minute, with roots from hair-color grow out. Oh! And boobs.
Me: I’d like a Tuna Sandwhich. Can I get that grilled?
Cashier: Glancing at chest Sure! I can grill that for you.
Me: And No chips please. I will just eat them.
Cashier: Laughs heartily. HOHOHO. Glances as chest Would you like a fruit replacement… leans in free?
Him: What’s your name?
Me: Getting slightly uncomfortable at the power of my boobs Um, uh.. Er… Uh…
Him: Your name? For the order? To call out?
Me: Oh! Right. Yea. Leslie. Sorry.
Just goes to prove: Having boobs does not make you smart.
But it does get you free shit.