Ah, yes – the day when some men attempt to decide on a woman’s size by equating her “assets” to a known quantity – like baseballs, maybe. Or softballs. Perhaps golf balls?
Me? I want that rig over there. I know, I know. It’s completely silly and useless outside the house. Unless the frou-frou bows detach. I also ache to own this little number.
Just look at her…all that stitchery…it’s darling, isn’t it? Go ahead, click the link and check out the matching unders. I’ll wait.
See?! I tell you – even in an apocalypse, I’d want these. I mean, what else might one look forward to but clean underwear? It might as well be pretty, too.
Of course, I’ve always been a fan of their things. Back in the day, they were the only ones who offered the larger sizes in something that said “sexy” instead of “matronly”. Mind you, they aren’t for the frugal. I hate to think of what I used to spend on foundation wear…
And what of us women-folk? What ought we to get for those men we adore? Trooper will be…mmm…on special assignment, returning that night, so it’ll be a nice dinner at home, maybe with a special dessert. I know what he’d LOVE…and I know where I’ll probably look. And, of course, I know where we ought to be putting our spare change.
But I have to tell you – none of those things are going to be as nice as just having him back home that night, safe and sound. The greatest gift of all, no?