Roll Up Roll Up

Bra removal. Probably the most satisfying part of a working woman's day. It's a feeling akin to stepping into a warm Bath after a long day on your feet, or getting out of a hot car at the seaside and feeling the seabreeze on your face. It's right up there with peeing after a long wait for the toilet, and that first bacon sandwich after a month of dieting. Bras are evil. A necessary evil. Nobody likes saggy tits.

When I buy a sexy bra I imagine it's going to make me look like a Victoria's Secret model. I'll put on that red satin deep plunge D-cup beauty and become instantly 2 stone slimmer. In reality I look like a sack of Maris Pipers, wearing pretty underwear. All the same, I know the right bra to make my cleavage look awesome. I'm fairly well-endowed so I've no real need for a booster bra. But then again, that's like saying a woman with nice hair has no need for a brush; you're blessed with a great asset but who's to say you can't make that asset even better. A booster bra is like makeup, it's an enhancement worn to make yourself feel good. Going out to a busy cocktail bar? Want to get served quick? Get yourself a boost! I know feminists everywhere would be a throwing their hairy armpits up in the air and declaring me a embarrassment to women, but at least I'll be an embarrassment with a nice cold drink. Of course at the opposite end of the scale, having people talking to your tits can become a little tiresome. When you have big norks it happens whether you show the cleavage or not. Jeered if you do, Jeered if you don't.

I wonder if that amazing feeling of setting the puppies free would be as amazing if I were a teeny size 8 frame..? Any woman of, how should I put this. ..cuddly, frame, will know that under-wired bras are the most uncomfortable items when you have a belly like Winnie the Pooh. I have more rolls than a Greggs delivery van. My stomach is more cheese board than washboard. Yet still, I can't stop bloody eating. Do I want to look gorgeous in my new Ann Summers bra? Of course I do. Do I want to sit down at my desk and not look like a pile of spare tyres? O for course. But I'll tell you what I also love; food. Damn food. Damn Walkers crisps and Snickers. Why can't salad taste as good as egg fried rice? I want to look good. I want to feel good and not hate myself every time I accidentally make myself a bacon and egg sandwich. As much as I love that bra releasing feeling, I'd rather stick to the warm bath and seabreeze and look like Winnie the Whoo. ..not Winnie the Pooh. I believe a diet and exercise regime is in order. Watch this space! If you're lucky, I'll show you my new bra. Minus the cheeseboard.