So I'm just gonna start off this post by saying that if you're easily offended by cleavage and bras for some reason, then you should probably stop reading right now. Because the shit's about to get real here. But all of my fellow large-breasted homegirls out there will completely understand when I say that my cleavage is like a goddamn cavern. Sometimes, I find all kinds of shit in there. Crumbs, bits of paper when I clean out the shredder, confetti, and on a windy day, the occasional leaf. And today at work I found a paper clip that had somehow fallen into the depths. This was a new one for me, I've never found paperclips in my cleavage before, and I gotta tell you, even I am a little bit stumped as to how it got there. I don't remember a shower of office supplies, and if someone was flinging them across the office, I think I would remember paperclips flying at me like ninja stars. But hey, who knows, right?
All I know is that halfway through the day, I felt the piercing and pinching start, and I figured that my underwire had escaped its fabricy confines and was being an asshole and trying to murder me by stabbing me in the chest. Which has happened before. I have the scars to prove it. Because that's the real cleavage life. It's the secret that Victoria never talks about. So I had to excuse myself and go to the restroom. Because you just can't wrestle your underwire in public, people. It's frowned upon. But as it turns out, my underwire had not staged a mutiny and was still holding the fort, so to speak. It was a paperclip, yo. In my cleavage. Because weird shit is the fucking story of my life.