booby thursday

Darn it, I wish this had happened on Tuesday now, for the sake of the title.

I went to Weight Watchers tonight, for some reason getting there early and then just having to sit and wait ages for the 'inspirational meeting' bit. So I listened to amusing conversation about how many miles you pound out while shopping intensively in Dundrum, and falling asleep quietly in the corner.

Then my friend's mum bounced in, all delighted and surprised to see me. My friend was busy changing and de-booting herself and probably squeezing out that last half point of wee pre-weigh in. Her mum is English and funny and sarky and bouncy and cynical and even though I don't see her hardly at all, there is a lovely affection there - I know Cassie from  school, since we were wee teens, and I think we have a mutual affection channelled through our appreciation of the role we each play in her daughter's life. Maybe.

Anyway.

Jenny said hello, then said, in playful eyebrow raised tones, 'What's this?'

And she reached over and gently tickled my cleavage.

I really didn't know how to answer that question, though I'll admit I did yank  my vest top further up in slightly defensive if amused surprise. I mean - it's nothing new! I've always had it. I start out the day scaffolded with underwire and vests-beneath-my-tops, all decent, but somehow gravity and my own body heat conspire against me, and I have to keep hoiking everything up all the time as things get more revealing.

See, I start out the morning demure and respectable!

I have had baby boys who are not my own lunging for my chest on more than one occasion, husbands, even but this is the first mother than I can remember doing it.

Cute boob facts, but there's SO much more to say about what's in breast milk. Live stem cells for one thing.