So back to boobs. I looked and noticed. Then stared at my tongue to check for sludge. I call it my "We are still not getting any sugar" sludge. My body is still doing some sort of detoxification. Frankly, the tongue was more fascinating than the breasts.
And after I thought about it, I thought about how I didn't think about it. I also noticed some new strange splotch on my face (my skin is prone to getting all sorts of spots on it--not pimples. spots.) and I looked at this too, like, Clint Eastwood. "What you lookin' at!"
I glared back at the boob, and the spot, and various rashes I noticed elsewhere on my less than perfect skin, and dared it to make a peep. Nothing. Then I happily put on my clean sports bra.
I am happy that life is bringing me to the point where I do not care if my right boob hangs low. Where else does it have to go?
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