My hair is long, but I noticed this morning in the shower that the ends were nowhere near my nipples. That was the gauge I used when I was younger to know if I needed a haircut: If my hair hit or went past my nipples in the shower, it was probably time for a trim.
Yes, well. My hair is just as long as it normally is when I am due for a haircut. I had no choice but to conclude (and not for the first time) that my nipples must be lower. Yes, well.
And so I laughed, as I have learned to do at such silliness, and decided that perhaps if I grow my hair even longer, maybe I’d create an optical illusion and my breasts would look as if they were riding higher.
I mulled that over as I got ready to take the girls to school, the usual mad rush of figuring out how to cover my body and my under eye circles, while shouting direction into the living room (“Brush hair! Shoes on!”) I had just thrown their painstakingly crustless toast was in the toaster, and I asked them to let me know when it dinged, so I could prep it for them and then get back to dressing.
It dinged, they called me, and I ran out, topless, my bra around my waist. “Oooh!” they said, mock shocked. “Oooh!” I said back. It was nothing they hadn’t seen before. I’m not modest, and we’re all gals. As I approached the kitchen, I scrambled to pile everything into the bra where it belonged.
As they ate, I went back to dressing. A few minutes later, in walks Sasha, with the drawing above. Sasha is normally very proud of her work, but this she handed to me drawing-side down with a sneaky giggle and then she scampered away. My breasts evidently point straight down like arrows on a Caution: Men Working construction sign. But as you can see, my eyes are larger than my breasts, and have big hearts as pupils.
And so I laughed, as I have learned to do at such silliness, and tried to find the hearts in my eyes in the mirror. Lo and behold, there they were.