Let’s have a toast.
And not for the douchebags or the assholes. I’ll leave that one up to Mr. Kanye West. This toast is for a staple in your wardrobe that never receives proper credit. The tit top. Maybe it’s a dress. Maybe it’s top. Maybe it’s that bodysuit you got because you a saw a KarJenner wearing one. We sing praises to the little black dress and the skinny jean, but we seem to neglect the praises that the tit top deserves.
So cheers to you, magical top. You take us on our days of feeling low, and lift us up. We don’t know how you perk us up the way you do, but we are grateful. You’re like those pants from The Sisterhood Of The Traveling Pants. Except instead of bringing a band of misfit teen friends closer together, you bring together these fat bags that hang on our chests.
Mazel, you gracious garment. You turn our B’s to D’s, and our D’s to inflatable arm floaties that could rescue a drowning child. From side boob to nipple accentuating to underboob to a traditional cleavage, we turn to you. In times when we want to say, “yeah my eyes are up here, but tonight is about the other pair.” In times when we have a planned spontaneous run-in with an ex. In times when after a week of wearing sports bras and oversized t-shirts, we just need a reminder that we’re still in fact, female.
May your titty magic live on forever. May it live on through the wash as we ignore your specific laundering details. As we toss you in to wash with the socks and much overdue towels to spin in a pool of soapy (but probably mostly vile) water, you make it through, unchanged. May your lady lump witchcraft live on as we drink too much and use you as sleepwear. Through our tossing, turning, and smokey eye demolishing, you never stretch out.
A glass of bubbly for you, booby buddy. Even in this era of the derrière, you are a patient friend. You may have been sorted to the back of our closets. We may have hung up new pairs of “lifting” “plumping” jeans. We may have even folded you up as a new midi-dress took claim of your hanger. And yet you knew. You knew we’d be back. You knew that one shining day, we would tire of squats and remember old faithfuls that sat right under our nose. A true friend through it all.
This one’s for you tit top. Keep it up. And by it, I mean our boobs..
Image via Youtube
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Rachel Page
Rachel enjoys spending her time thinking about Britney Spears, whining about being single, and thinking about Britney Spears. She doesn't take to criticism well, so be nice or so she will cry herself to sleep! Email: rpage@grandex.co
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