Yeah, okay, so I fail at "A post a day." Acknowledged.

I think it's time to revisit a topic quite near to my heart - hanging right in front of it, actually. Yep, it's time again to talk about my boobs. Specifically, the sorry state thereof. Some of you may remember when they looked like this:

Nice hooters, huh? Yeah, I thought so, too. Well, since weaning Captain Crazypants, the glory has faded, and faded fast. I had to go buy new bras yesterday and I found myself wishing I'd brought a bugle along to play taps for my ta-tas. They are bodacious no more. In fact they are starting to look like a couple of Ritz crackers shoved into a pair of pantyhose. I know I shouldn't complain, since they are only down to a C, and not all the way back to the A I had before I got knocked up, but it's really only a C after I've gathered them all up and shifted them around into some sort of loose skin origami breast shape and plopped them into the damn bra, relying on meticulously engineered wires and padding and mystical lingerie prestidigitation to keep them front, center, and pointing vaguely upward. Victoria's Secret? Yeah baby, it's in the buttresses. And speaking of buttressing...no, I'll spare you that horror and sit on it for another entry later.