Wolf convents and my breasts.

A friend and I have a running joke about me being overly modest about my cleavage. She says I was raised in a convent. (Sidebar: I’ve never seen Star Wars, so I may also have been raised by wolves, and I think we can all agree that a wolf convent would be pretty badass.)

Anyway. I texted her a photo of the shirt I wore last night, and asked, “Proud of my cleavage?”

Her response: “What cleavage? I’d wear that to church. I’m proud of your attempt at cleavage.”

Me: “Goddammit.”

Whatever. Men eat up that modesty shit. My niche is “girl next door…who says ‘fuck’ a lot and won’t make you watch The Notebook.”

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