Cas, your friendly neighbourhood slapper

I would like to talk, once again, about my breasts. I am female, as I am sure most of you have realised by now, and I have large(ish) breasts. These are two inescapable facts about me, and two facts I have, over the years, come to terms with. As mentioned before I like my breasts. Other people have expressed favorable opinions of them as well. At times I would wish them smaller, but on the whole I am just fine with them the way that they are.

Time was, they were ‘stealth breasts’, hidden under polo necks and baggy shirts. Now I am proud of them. Well, I don’t try to hide them at least. But nor do I flaunt them. They are an “asset” and I wouldn’t be female if I didn’t (every now and then) play them up (so to speak). I also have a nice smile, so I’ve been told a time or two, and if the combination of the two makes someone that little bit more wiling to help, then I’m not gonna complain. I’m not exactly a supermodel here guys, and a gal has got to catch all the breaks she can!

I like to dress nice for work, where the dress code is smart/casual. As I never know if I’m gonna be called out on a roadshow to face the rampaging hordes in their quest for concessionary bus travel, I tend to go for the smarter end of the spectrum, but mixed always with my own blend of style. We’re usually talking knee length (or longer) skirt, a cute top, and boots. Slightly sassy, but perfectly respectable. The Boss commented only yesterday how pretty I always look, so I’m not concerned that I dress inappropriately.

On Monday I got a comment that has, quite simply, made my week. I got called a shameless hussy by a little old lady! I quote:

“I had a Marilyn Monroe figure when I was younger too, dear, but I never flaunted it like the shameless hussy you are”.

(So I paraphrase slightly, but that was the gist).

Now, laying aside for now that I don’t quite have a Marilyn Monroe figure (if wishing would make it so), I found this absolutely hysterical. Almost as funny was watching the Boy Temps’ face and his repeated denials – he was really rather sweet in trying to make sure I knew he didn’t think I was dressed as a shameless hussy.

Now, before you wonder why I didn’t tell the old dear to take a running jump and to stop insulting me, I have this to say:

1) I was there as a representative of my employer. As such, I wasn’t really at liberty to be rude.
2) The lady was clearly several screws short of a hardware store, and lonely to boot. She just wanted conversation and, on top of that, quite clearly wasn’t totally aware of what she was saying.
3) I do have cleavage. Anything short of a polo neck will expose some of what god gave me – there is no escaping this. And I was sitting down at a low table verifying forms at the time. So sure, dirty old men could have, if they wanted to, got an eyeful. It costs me nothing and if they get some pleasure from looking, who am I to deny them that? Going by the moral standards of her pre-WW2 day, perhaps I was being a bit of a hussy.

I’ve always had a reputation as a bit of a flirt online. This is clearly starting to move over into my real life as well, which isn’t altogether a bad thing. I’m happy in my body now. I am me, my breasts are an inescapable part of that identity, and I’m not going to go around dressed in sackcloth and ashes on the off chance people might get offended by that.

(The top, by the way, wasn’t even that low-cut. Nor was it one of my see-through ones. The woman was clearly just jealous 😀 )

Yes, she shouldn’t have said anything, but it amused me far more than it offended me. It gave me something to blog about if nothing else. Just don’t get me started on her opinions of the Italians and a woman’s place (though that might have been part of the problem – I am mid twenties and not chained to a kitchen sink).

I do so love my job. The potential for completely random and hilarious occurrences is just huge! That, and I got to play with firemen today 😉 I already have a rep as the happy one. The one who sees the bright side and humour in every situation. Dr Temp mentioned to me the other day how I was always willing to laugh at myself. Of course I laugh at myself. It’s only when you appreciate the ridiculous in yourself that you can truly appreciate the sublime in everyone else.

Anyway, I’m going to stop now before I give you all the impression I am a incurable tart. This is the Shameless Hussy saying goodnight and happy browsing 😉

This post was written first in longhand, with a proper fountain pen on real paper! Blame Josh and his ideas of breaking free of the tyranny of the computer. That, and I had this urge to write at gone midnight last night and couldn’t be arsed to boot up the Pocket Calculator. And no, I am not going to be making a habit of it. Notes and drafts will be being kept on the computer. It just takes too damn long to type it all up and make it look pretty.

breasts, humour, Marilyn Monroe

12 thoughts on “Cas, your friendly neighbourhood slapper

  1. WOOT! for the big boobs! I know what you mean about no matter what you wear, the cleavage is going to show. LOL

  2. WOOT indeed!

    I’ve fielded more than a few surprised comments from people about this post. Most of the guys just can’t get over the fact I talk about my breasts. One person even went so far as to say it wasn’t everyday that women talked about their breasts.

    I have three responses to that:
    1) I am no everyday woman, this is true, but still…
    2) Most women talk about their breasts, much in the same way that I imagine men talk about their penises. At least the women of my acquaintance do. Which brings me to three…
    3) Perhaps I just hang out with odd women. Or to look at it another way, perhaps you aren’t hanging out with the right sort of women 😉

    And now, I think I have done enough to get my poor little blog lots of unsavoury traffic for the next few weeks, so I will stop now. *waves at any people who came here in search of porn* Sorry. Not that sort of blog, really. Better luck next time.

  3. Firstly, why would anyone search for ‘stealth breasts’? But interesting none the less.

    My sole goal in life is the be the number one when Googling “eager beaver” (I’m #25 at the moment)

  4. Pingback: Bright Meadow » Sunday Roast: I’m never picking up a guy in a cemetery again

Comments are closed.