boob jail

City living forces me into a bra way more than I ever anticipated.

In my old suburb, the kids next door would knock on our door twice a year selling whatever and so, ya know, bra. But that was really it as far as visitors. No one bothered me much and it was pretty wonderful.

SWING LOW, SWEET CHARIOTS.

The city is a different/bothersome story.

Like, maybe your neighbor’s dog ran away and so he knocks on your door at seven f*cking forty-five a.m. to ask if you’ve seen it – jump out of bed/put on a bra/open the door, the answer is no.

Or maybe the neighborhood “scrap guy” who takes kids scooters without bothering to ask, but somehow feels compelled to knock on your door asking if he can take some of the wood you have piled up in your backyard for your bonfires – take a break from the laundry/put on a bra/open the door, the answer is no.

How about the mom and kid combo that come to your door OF ALL THE DOORS, demanding to use your cell phone because she’s lost – put down the coffee/put on a bra/open the door, the answer is no.

I’m usually a pretty reasonable/friendly person, but the answer is no because ya’ll either woke me up, or are just plain shady sometimes and so it’s like, I put a bra on for this…?

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One thought on “boob jail

  1. Hahaha love it! Preach, girl… 👐

    Like

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