Recently, someone told me that she was glad that women have to wear bras.
When I questioned her logic, and sanity, she explained that she is so happy about wearing a bra because the best feeling in the world is taking it off every night.
That friend of mine? She’s one smart cookie.
Because my son has sensory issues and because he likes to snuggle and rub my flabby arms, even if I’m in my pajamas, I wait to take off my bra until he has gone to bed. The last thing I need is for him to accidentally run his hand a little too far up my sleeve. Then we’d need a whole new kind of therapist. Just sayin’.
The other night, as he was preparing to go to bed, I snuck into my bedroom and removed my bra. As luck would have it…wait…as my luck would have it, when I came in and sat down on the stool in his tiny bathroom, the back of his hand brushed against my B-O-O-B.
He looked up at me and asked, “What’s that?”
I honestly replied, “Well, that’s one of my private parts. That’s my boob.”
Then he reached his hand up and touched my chest and said, “Oh! I thought boobs were supposed to be up here.”