I am so incredibly excited to be wearing a shirt I bought a
while ago but never wore to work. It
looks great with my black pants, I can wear a nice silver necklace, and all is
right with the world.
Until I brush my teeth before leaving the house.
Holy crap! I have
boobs. I know this because I can see my
cleavage in the shirt.
I stand up straight and decide I just won't lean over any
desks today at school. Then I realize if
I move a certain way, the top moves enough and … whoop, there it is. Cleavage.
Let me say this right off the bat: As a medium-chested woman, I'm loving that I
still have cleavage at my age. Decent
cleavage. Cleavage that hasn't started
to wrinkle at the in-seam. TMI? Tough.
I have boobs, and I'm damn proud at my age that they're not banging
against my knees.
I'm running it close to time to leave for work. I have to decide: Do I want to spend the day worrying about
boob angles with prepubescent students, or do I risk being late and changing my
shirt? My beautiful, new, never-been-worn
shirt?
Let's weigh the odds here.
I work for an administration that believes adults in the school can wear
mini-dresses and go-go boots but not jeans because jeans indicates you are the
Antichrist in Indigo. People can wear
their hair up in beehive bouffants that defy gravity, but god forbid there's a
leg hair showing (tough luck for that one-year teacher who had lived in Europe,
never shaved anything, and always wore sleeveless dresses to school --
ew). Spaghetti straps are totally out,
but stretch yoga pants that ride the butt crack are perfectly acceptable. Bra strap showing through the sleeve? No good.
Entire colored bra visible through sheer top? That's fine.
But this is me we're talking about. I could wear a turtleneck to my nose and
still get in trouble.
Cleavage? Me? As much as it thrills me to see it and flaunt
it, I decide to be late to work. I
change into my usual long-sleeved black shirt with a colorfully patterned nylon
shirt over it. The black pants stay.
Sure, I doubt anyone would see my cleavage, anyway, but I
really wanted to break in that shirt.
Maybe I'll pair it with some go-go boots and a beehive bouffant hairdo
-- then I'll look like I belong.
