Rant: Boob Sweat
minneapolis got its first taste of spring today. and we’re loving it. there’s something about moping through cavernous skyways all winter because, yes, it really is that cold, that makes us all the more frenzied when the sun finally rears its pretty face.
our pupils dilate and pulses quicken. we strap on our rollerblades, dig up last summer’s running shoes, fill a cooler with beer and light up the grill. mouths water and palms grow moist as we realize that yes, spring is finally here.
i woke this morning, verified the forecast on my weatherbug and cast an elated grin at the blue sky as i raised my blinds. i skipped to the closet, threw back the doors and gazed adoringly at my favorite part of spring 2006, a bright turquoise tank top from the generra couture collection.
but just as i reached for the hanger, i felt it. wetness. in horror, i looked down to see the steaming beads of sweat plotting silently beneath my breasts. yes, they were scheming to unite and form a pool of such unpleasantry that it manages to somehow render unsexy one of the most feminine and attractive areas of my body.
fuck you, boob sweat.
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