I vacillate daily between wanting to whine about how hot it is, to wanting to punch the people who whine about how hot it is.
|Oh, look, a highly appropriate ecard.|
I don't remember summers being this hot when I was younger. I mean, I also don't remember why on earth I would ever eat bologna and mayo sandwiches when I was younger, but still.
It may be global warming, or it may be the extra __ pounds I've put on in the last 6 years (have I mentioned our 6th anniversary is next week? There is no mystery there. Happy = Chubby), but either way, I'm burning up.
So much so that I am thisclose to eschewing all modesty and/or propriety and am about to start running around in tube tops and hotpants. Like a deranged Hollywood starlet, minus the cocaine and Uggs.
Ok, fine. No, I probably won't go that far. But it's true I can't remember the last time I wore a spaghetti-strapped shirt or dress without a tank or tee underneath. And lets be honest- that is a combination of about 30% true modesty, and 70% I'm uncomfortable baring arms. (My arms, not actual weaponry.)
Last week, however, we hit 90something degrees in central Arkansas, which might as well have been 237°. I pulled out my favorite light-weight tunic dress and decided to forego the bottom layer.
Which is when I realized: I don't own a single strapless bra.
I do have two new heavy-duty numbers that I just love. (Lift! Separation!) I also have several
And so, I did this:
(That is neither my actual bra or my actual hand using actual scissors. It's a graphic representation of my dramatic act, found on the grand ol' google.)
Yes. I cut off the straps off one of my bras. Not one of the new ones, one of the
ratty previously more useful nursing bras.
And you know what? It felt good to have the cool car A/C blowing on my bare shoulders again. I was hyper-aware of my heavy artillery (My arms, not my bazoombas) on display for all of Chick-Fil-A to see, but for just a little while, I didn't care.
Now, I doubt I'll be running around in tube tops and hot pants any time soon. Or strappy sundresses. And yes, maybe I need to actually purchase a proper strapless bra instead of my
mutilated home-made version.
But at least I'm one step closer
to self-confidence away from passing out on a fainting couch/punching someone in the face.