So, I wore this nice black lacy camisole under my shirt today,
at work. I was having a girly day with the lace. While it looked nice – and yes,
only I got to see it – it also had the benefit of being one of the fitted stretchy
ones that also holds things in. You know – possible bulges, enticing love
handles – all those loveable things the best women have. When I first put it on
it felt pretty good. I had just finished
my 5km run and boxing session and I felt streamlined and ready to take on the world.
An hour later at work, on a tropically humid day, I walked swiftly to the ladies loos and ripped
my shirt off, dragged the lacy, torturous bitch-of-a-thing off and threw it
across the bathroom. It landed with a thwack and lay all pretty and lacy looking
on the floor. I then stood in my bra, letting
my natural curves all hang out and swore as god is my witness I will never wear
that again.
There’s a lot to be said for letting it all hang out.
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