today i went to my tattoo guy to start chatting about what i want done to my back. in order to plan this out, josh had to trace my back. which involved me having to take my top off. so i was just in a bra. the WORST. BRA. I. OWN. all full of fabric balls and kind of ill-fitting the type of bra you wear under multiple layers and when there's ZERO chance of having anyone see it. so not only am i showing more skin to a man than i've shown in over six months, i'm showcasing the most nastiest piece of underwear possible.
oh... but what could make it worse? let's expand....
1-i'm wearing pantyhose with sweet control top that almost meet that weak-ass bra at my belly midpoint. so... when josh wasn't wondering why a single 32-year-old woman is wearing the boob clothes of a 50-year-old married woman, he was losing himself in a sea of opaque spanks. when he asks where my back ends and butt begins, i have to point a good 8 inches below where the top of the hose have worked their way into my skin and really, let's be honest, etched themselves into his heart.
2-it seems that my sugar indulgence has finally come back to bite me. i've been sweating like a pig.... like. a. pig. at yoga the other night, i wondered where that smell of onions was coming from and realized it was me. me. me with the sweaty feet that have wet their way through more pairs of socks this week than i'd like to admit. so.... let's add all this together...
ill-fitting boob cover + bea arthur stomach girdle + sweat stained linen dress = total. sex pot. seduction.
and yes.... as i'm standing there in my bra, trying to hold my shoulders back with my hands on the hips pretending i'm super comfortable standing next to my tattoo guy, chatting about the best way to shade cherry blooms when one of us is WAY more naked than the other, i did say "you know, had i known this was going to happen i would have worn a much better bra." and then zipped that dress up up up.
