unprofessional-grade-tits

“Mom? Do grown up’s bottoms get wrinkles? From the water? Like fingers?”I stand up from the slight stoop I was in to towel off my hair after switching places in the shower with LE. I consider the lovely view of my dimpled rear my daughter has been observing from the floor of the shower, and I say, “Yes. They do. Just like the fingers.”Cellulite, like sex, is something she will need to learn about in increments.

Water did it.

Mrs. Z told me that LE has been happily telling her kindergarten class how much she is looking forward to summer, because you don’t have to wear clothes at our house in summer!! Mrs. Z thanks her for sharing.

I had a guy build a six foot high fence around my backyard before we moved in. It was my pride. A completely secure perimeter, no danger of dogs or children escaping into traffic, and total privacy.

I don’t know why I didn’t fix the slope side when I first noticed. Added an extra privacy lattice or something. The side of the fence facing the neighbor whom my indifferent weed control used to offend, it’s on a slope. So the fence there is only five feet tall, and her window looks into my yard.

My kid’s noise and nudity doesn’t bother her, which goes to show she can be a good sport about non-weed related issues. But this single defect of fencing has ruined my summers. What better way to teach my daughter body comfort than to lounge around under a tree in my underpants? Letting my “wrinkly” butt spread it’s dominion over a picnic blanket, letting my belly and breasts sway and float however they naturally do when relaxing in a wading pool?  I love being naked. Clothes make me hot and fettered.

I could only do stuff like that for another year or so anyway, as Jack approaches the ability to make memories in his giant baby head. Because although I think it’s healthy for my daughter, I would never foist the burden of it on my son, who shouldn’t be cursed with lasting memories of his mother’s boobs glistening in the sunshine.

Gus refuses to go into the backyard unless fully clothed, shirt to socks. And he gets agitated when I stumble into the kitchen at night with no shirt on, flip on a light and rummage for pills or graham crackers, fence or no fence.

“When I was a kid, if there was any possible way to see any neighbor’s naked boobs, I’d have found it. ” He thinks all the neighbors are gathered around the cracks of the pine boards, rubbing their hands and waiting for a glimpse of my raw naked flesh.

Well hells bells. If anyone is going to go through that much effort just to see my decidedly unprofessional grade tits, who am I to take that away from them?

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