Last night at swing I wore a brand new t-shirt. I was all excited. I ordered it months ago, but it’s sleeveless, so I’ve had to wait for the weather to warm up to wear it. It says, in rather ragged lettering, “Need to dance. Please help. God bless.” (So totally awesome.) Now, you have to understand, I tend to be rather choosy about the things I’m willing to display across my chest. I’m rather, um, gifted in that department, and there’s only so much attention I care to draw to my boobs. When I saw this shirt, however, I loved it so much I had to have it. I didn’t think of how it would look actually on me. Because of, well, the topography of the area, the first line is pretty easy to read, but then the text kinda curves down to the underside and becomes a little difficult to read. I didn’t notice when I was looking in the mirror because I already knew what it said, and was much more concerned about whether the fit of the shirt looked good than whether people would be able to read it easily.
Here’s the cute thing: I was dancing with Lyle, a very sweet new guy, young and more innocent than you would have thought possible in this day and age. A few bars into the dance he asked me to tell him what my shirt said. “I can read the very top,” he said, “but I don’t think I’ll be able to get the rest of it without, um…” he trailed off with a blush as I started laughing. It was so cute. It made me want to give him milk and cookies and pay him five bucks to mow the lawn. Gosh. Who knew they made guys like that anymore?