So I went out for dinner with The BF and Other Close Friend on Friday night. The BF and I used to do this regularly. And then life just seemed to get in the way. Besides which, we got into the habit of eating together every night that the notion of going out for a special dinner just kind of got filed away. Along with our days of being able to go six consecutive days of eating only cake and not gaining any weight. Ah, those were the days.
It was a little bit like a date. Except the closest I came to a boobie grope was from Other Close Friend.
Other Close Friend: Pant, your boobs are looking amazing. When did they get so big?
I will admit to you, because you won't tell anyone (will you?) that I've witnessed a distinct breast growth over the last couple of months. And while I take pleasure in men no longer looking at my face while they address me (The Husband's Friend even commented on boobs, something in the vein of, "You have put on weight ... on your boobs"), I kind of miss my uber flat-chestedness. For starters, I could wear any top I wanted to. And go out dancing. And not wake up with a chest ache I remember experiencing when I was jersey cow to The Daughter. But I shan't complain. I mean, for real, I'm not sure a man has commented on my lips or eyes (or any other feature above my chest) for the past two months.
The Pant: To be honest, Other Close Friend, they may be bigger,
OCF: Are you-
TP: No. I'm not. Don't even go there.
OCF: But why are they SO big?
TP: Well, if you must know, Other Close Friend, it's a new bra.
OCF: No. Way.
OCF: They look like grown-up's boobs.
TP: I know!
OCF: But surely a bra can't do all of that?
TP: It can. This thing is so padded it's like a fat suit for tits.
OCF: Let me feel.
I paused for thought. And then leant forward, the right breast leading.
Other Close Friend prodded and caressed in my general breast area for a good minute or two.
OTC: It feels just like a boob.
TP: What does?
OTC: Your boob.
TP: You were actually touching it?
TP: Oh! Couldn't feel a thing.
What I hadn't noticed during this grope fest was Sexy Sexy Man dining with his parentals. I later learned that he spent the majority of his meal blushing a violent ruby at the public display of, well, affectionish.
Luckily though, I have my friends to ensure that if Sexy Sexy Man wasn't judging me enough, they made sure to drive my embarrassment home. While I was out having a ciggie, they sent via the waitress a hand written note with my number to said man.
Ah, who needs enemies, when your friends are quite capable of making a tit of you?