Getting a-breast of matters

Ola, bonjour, ello everyone, apologies for the wait, but like the thought of actually having to think of something in my life interesting to write about takes sometime since I spend most of it on a f**king computer.

Today I’m going to talk about my breasts. They’re not that big, and they’re not that attractive, but somehow, out of no fault of my own, they seem to jump out of my tops and show crowds of people in shops, or nightclubs, or just pubs.

It occurred to me last night that usually it really isn’t my fault, I’m just a clumsy cow, with a very evil boyfriend. Last night, we went out with another couple, and I wore quite a covered up top for a change (the one I wore to the meet up), yet halfway through the evening my top ended up around my neck. I attempted to do that curling away thing, you know, where you’re desperately trying to put it back to normal, but somebody who is bigger and stronger than you and less drunk manages just to stand there watching you struggle.

Thinking back, I wasn’t as embarrassed as the first time the city of Lincoln saw my breasts. I was about 16. Here I was standing in a changing room attempting to try on a nice dress in NEXT in a pair of old saggy knickers and grubby bright red ski socks, when it got stuck just above my shoulders. My mum then whipped open the curtain to ask how I was doing and the lucky Christmas shoppers got to see ickle me still not growing that much pinky and perky!

That was probably my most embarrassing experience as I’d just started the “F**KING HELL WHERE THE F**K ARE MY BOOBS!” stage. Okay, so that’s a lie, I’d been like that since I was 13, but by 16 it gets a little worrying that you’re still on picture two of the puberty book! Anyway, they obviously took a liking to the open air and since then have decided to pop out wherever and whenever they see fit! Pubs seems to be the favourite location, usually when I’m bopping away in my own little world to Britney Spears (did I mention, I aim to be her one day?) with my arms up in the air. Then either Matthew sees fit to whip my top forwards, back, up down, left, right or some poor unexpecting lad accidentally brushes past me and WOOOSH out they pop!

So where now? Should I carry on as normal and let them pop out at every opportunity? Should I wear a metal bra? Or should I just get them out constantly and be done with it. Please get back to me, because I’m fed up of making a tit of myself.