This post is inspired by too many people & blogs to cite. Too, too many to give adequate link-love.
The information and TMI-details below have only increased with our recent relocation endeavor.
Business cards I don’t want to lose, keys, notes-to-self, hairbands, MORE keys hath all “emerged” at day’s end.
(yep. even THAT day…)
And, seeing as I’m the consummate misfit, each time I spy one I think:
I don’t own a gym bag. I never carry a purse. I stuff everything in my bra.
And, seeing as I’m the consummate misfit, *that’s* precisely the post Ive longed to write.
When you see me like this:
Or spy me sweaty:
There’s always a lot more there than meets the proverbial eye.
A lot more which I tend to either use immediately (gum for coffee-breath, cash for food, key for key-stuff) or completely forget until I disrobe
hours and hou rs later when I finally shower moments after exercising.
Today’s post was prompted by the cascade o’crap which launched forth yesterday when I de-bra’ed.
- paper money.
- a pistachio I hadn’t been able to pry open.
- a gum wrapper.
- a random red skull bead.
As I watched the pistachio bounce across the floor I wondered, again, if I’m the only woman who consistently has whole tree nuts fall when she disrobes.
And a post was born.
Merely so I can ask you:
- Over-share with me. Normalize for me. What’s in YOUR bra?
PSA: On the remotest chance there is any validity in the cell phone/breast cancer connection I urge you to never, ever tuck your phone in your bra.