I no longer own a bra that does not showcase my boobs. It’s just a fact. Also, all my shirts are of the V-neck/scoop neck variety because they flatter my shape. This causes a problem when the work dress code is, “If you think you look good, put on something frumpy.”
Since my job is in a call center, we can wear jeans and tee’s with sneakers without a problem. Which kind of sucks since I’ve been waiting for a work clothes shopping trip since the third grade, and now they tell me that pinstripe slacks and blazers are no longer needed? I call shenanigans! But the point is that I refuse to wear anything with writing on it to work. I have a similar shoes rule; if there’s tread with a logo in it, not cool for work.
It’s these damn boobs that keep tripping me up. Or smothering me, as the case may be. Or weighing me down, or chocking me up, etc. There are lots of directional jokes available when it comes to boobs. Maybe that’s why boys like them. Jokes are easily made about them. But I digress….
No matter the camisole, tank top, or cardigan the fun bags continue to make their presence known. I should just have my aunt crochet me a bib and call it a day. There’s no such thing as work appropriate knockers.