Afternoon delight...

Can I whisper to you of lechery?

Can I? Those surprising moments I am reminded of maleness outside of the cocoon of marriage?

Being directed by traffic cops (I don't know, just sigh...) but first and foremost?

Well, it's a specialized taste, I suspect.

And, due to the confines of office wear, doesn't occur often, but sometimes, on casual Fridays....

There's this little spot just below a toned belly button, that flat belly part where fuzz begins. It's horribly distracting in it's deliciousness.

In French training, there was a fella who sat directly opposite of me around the U of the table - of the bespectacled German variety I have long found to be so endearing - who was also very athletic, returning after lunch each day wet headed from the gym next door. And then, wearing low-slung jeans, he would stretch back over his chair and, oh dang...............c'est quoi, que je disais?

And then? During the first class of yoga with the more butch of the two instructors, we started the sun salutation series, and, well, if I'm going to be able to concentrate on the here and now, I'm going to have to move my mat.

Or not. shhhhh.

Where has all the cleavage gone??

long time passing..... (and my apologies to Mr. Seeger.)

So after the BBV debacle, I have tried it again - the buying of the supportive undergarment. Seriously - have they gotten way bigger in the fit, or is it just me? No wait. Don't answer that.

I'm am now just on the edge of being able to shop in a normal store - having to ask for a ridiculously small bandsize (one I wore in junior high, no less) but in an place in the alphabet not usually connected with well, supportive undergarments one could possibly buy in a normal store. I'm kinda at the place where I have to just accept what they have and call it mine, if I'd like to buy something to wear under my shirt. And add a 'stretcher' - which is a super sexy add on bit with extra hooks, because I am apparently between sizes - one up will result in me cursing the stupid thing in a week, as it waltzes all over my ribcage, and without the super-hot old-lady accessory, let's just say the current size reveals quite an impressive display of underarm and back 'wings'. Smokin'.

Bleagh. Underwhelming.

On the upside, however, I no longer have to wear safety goggles for protection when I run. So there's that.

On the downside? Well, I no longer have to wear safety goggles for protection when I run, I guess.