My Tits

So, Britain is currently experiencing it’s first taste of hot weather for this year & honestly there is nowhere I would rather be on days like this.

Britain when it starts to heat up is one of the funniest places to be on this earth, no one does it quite like the Brits, it seems. Once the thermometer surpasses 15 degrees, the tops fly off, every corner shop sells out of Strongbow Dark Fruit & suddenly everyone in the office has a mysterious case of ‘I-want-to-get-drunk-in-a-beer-garden-ITUS’.

I was no exception to this rule today, (apart from my day off was legitimate) & I found myself strolling around East London quietly laughing to myself as British people everywhere fed their stereotypes with gusto.

The reason I was meandering all over East London is because today is my bi-weekly ‘self love’ day, where I treat myself to over priced manicures & painful eyebrow threading in an attempt to not look a yeti, should I suddenly get a last minute casting come through. But my beauty regimes are not part of this particular blog, although I’m sure many beauty related ones will follow.

No, the point of my blog today is something close to my heart, (literally, har har), my TITS. Halfway through my day, as the sun was hitting it’s peak and temperatures were nearing 30, I was sitting on a train when I suddenly realised I’d left my favourite water bottle at the nail salon. This sounds mad I know, that I have a favourite water bottle to begin with, but me being me, I spent £30 on a sleek glass bottle a few weeks ago, (that has none of the nasty stuff in it that plastic ones do) & I love this bottle with all my heart. I honestly may marry it one day & sell my story to Heat magazine.

ANYWAY, I realised I’d left it, and I had to go back for it. This realisation hit me like a sack of shit. I was already done with the sun for today, and I’d already paid for my tube home. The last thing I wanted to do was a full 180 and head back the way I came, but I did so. I don’t have £30 to be throwing around, yano.

And with this decision came another decision… to remove my T-Shirt.

Now I knew it was going to be hot today & I planned my outfit accordingly. I was wearing shorts, I was ready. But also this morning, I chose to fake tan and as everyone who has tanned before knows, you don’t really want to be going out into hot weather with tight clothing on after applying, or you’re gonna end up STREAKY AF. So this morning I wore a crop top, no bra and a T-Shirt over the top. This was all well and good until I decided to remove my T-Shirt in my stress at having to retrace my steps.

Suddenly, all eyes were on titty watch. Now, I’m not a flat chested creature, I was blessed with an ample chest and this REALLY caused a stir. I chose to own it & observe what it did to the people around me. There was: beeping from gross men in trucks, LONG sideways glances from all manner of people from the street… but worst of all was the girl on the tube who decided to strike up a conversation about it with her boyfriend, referring to my boobs as my ‘junk’ ??? (Hello, 2005 called?!)

I was just too hot, not trying to be a sex kitten or anything. My crop top wasn’t small, I was just unsupported, bouncing around Shoreditch and I couldn’t believe I was being made to feel like the ‘naughty nanny’ from Sex & the City 2.

What’s mental to me is that people are so used to the image of round supported pushed up breasts that this was a real shock to everyone, enough for them to open their mouths and talk about it. The same ladies who probably look in the mirror at their boobs everyday. I have no idea what this means for society, probably something about unrealistic beauty standards, but I personally reckon it’s just BLOODY WEIRD & so I will probably spend more time this summer flailing my free titties around London, a.) because I am an attention seeker & b.) because clearly the world needs educating on what a normal boob looks like.

The end, goodbye.

 

 

 

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