I'm a bit of a homebody. I get home from work and it usually takes a national emergency to get me out again. And these days, now that I'm getting up at an ungodly hour to go to the gym, me and the bed meet about 9 p.m.
I particularly enjoy putzing around at home, listing books online, working on my book, having petting orgies with my cats (you know, when they lay on the bed and you rub their tummies and they roll around in ecstasy.)
But I've come up with a new measure of a good day now.
In summary - to boob or not to boob.
I don't mind wearing fake boobs. They're a tad smaller than the originals, which isn't bad, and it's just like wearing a bra, which I've done since puberty hit decades ago.
But there is a great pleasure in not having to put them on. And, frankly, not wearing a bra is much more pleasurable when you don't have anything to put in one.
Years (and years and years) ago I used to go without a bra every once in awhile. But it was just uncomfortable. Those babies would be swinging around indiscriminately and you never knew if they'd take an eye out. Us big girls often need to corral those puppies just to keep them from getting out of control and hurting someone.
Now I can put on a shirt and do whatever I want with no worries of imminent danger. The cats don't find my chest quite as comfortable to sleep on but my stomach is just a bit lower and, well, that's padded well enough.
So now when I'm ensconced at home leaving to go on an errand or visit a friend or go to the store has to leap another hurdle in my mind - is it worth putting my boobs on?
Believe me, you should be proud if you're boob-worthy. It's a high standard to meet, I know, but with the award season coming, well, it's something to strive for.
To boob or not to boob - that's my question.