Last week, last week. Ohhhh yet another last week. I'm not sure if I've ever let this little blog stay alone for this long, but it was one of those weeks filled with so much work-kidstuff-daycare mayhem-Denise Richards reality TV-blahblahblah that it had to be done. Now, where were we? Oh yes, we were talking about tits.
(This is the part where my mom rolls her eyes and says, "Lovely, Jessica," which is really more like "Jess-i-cuhhh!" and is inevitably followed by her description of it clearly being Jackass Driving Day with invitations being handed out to all the dumb shit drivers on the road. I mention this only because her kind of potty mouth is the perfect - ahem - pairing for my breastage terminology. So...back to tits it is).
Many months ago at a lovely little blog gathering, Jeanne listened to my long and complicated divorce story and then told me that pursuing younger men might be a good next move and that I needed to schedule an appointment with The Boobologist immediately. And really, how can you pass up solid advice like that?
(Keep reading about our racks after the jump....you know you want to).