Sometimes boobs are the worst.
Like in the summertime.
Boobs are just terrible in the summertime. Boobs, booblie wooblies, chests, coconuts, ta-tunkas, bongos, dirty pillows…whatever you want to call them. On a humid, summer day they’re just awful. Either they get all hot and sweaty and completely drench your bra, or you’re free flying and the feeling of your moist skin on top of other moist skin is so incredibly uncomfortable.
I’m starting to think girls who have their chests out when it’s warm aren’t just doing it to be the centers of attention; they’re airing them out. They’re letting their chests breathe a little so their bras don’t become a swampy marshland.
Maybe I just hate sweating in general. I’m so exhausted by it. I’m constantly taking showers to feel fresh, in spite of the fact that I’m instantly sweating once I get out. I try to turn up the cold water, but that nonsense only hangs around so long before pockets of dew develop on my upper cheeks.
It’s all downhill from there.
I refuse to give in to air conditioning. I refuse to dig that gigantic monster out of the cellar only to have it devour my electric bill. I refuse. I can be strong. I can do this. I can save hundreds if only I allow body time to readjust to the weather change.
Beginning of summer be damned. ♣Today’s RAK: Preparing a small care package for a friend many miles away.