If I had a choice

I wore a pretty sleeveless blouse (*shudder* jacs, the macho wo/man is now cross-dressing) that showed a hint of cleavage. I didn't notice that before I left for work this morning, as I was still sleep-walking. The openings to the arms were also quite lose; I concurred that I had lost a significant amount of weight, yet again. As I looked in the drab comfort room mirror at the office, the dim light bulb in my head showed a sign of light. I pulled the top part of my blouse forward with both hands; the arms suddenly fit and the low v-neck was not as low as I supposed it should be. Eureka! I did not have enough in the front part of my upper torso to fill in the blouse.

Thus, if I had a choice between a boob job and having a psychiatrist on retainer, I would definitely have the boobies grow a little. Just a tiny bit. Why, you might ask. At 23, I have come to the solid conclusion that my mental state is hopeless. Why waste all that money on therapy that won't work? I have friends for that.

Now, having enhanced boobies will help me fill out several blouses that I thought loosened because of weight loss. A boob job will also give the illusion that I have a waist line.

Unfortunately, I do not have the money for a boob job. It is only a pipe dream. In truth, I would never get one for fear of health risks and yucky men. I also have other things to worry about, such as purchasing a house in the next year and paying off my debt to the government for wishing to further my education.

But, really, if I had that choice, I would get boobies.