This post is not nearly as exciting as the title would lead you to believe, but a little false advertising never hurt anyone.  Except the guy that came here looking for porn.  Yeah.  You.  We see you.  And we are staring, judging and pointing.  The trifecta of shame.  So, you know....move along pervert, there's nothing for you to see here.

Where was I?

I've been running a lot of late.  Like...the last three months or so.  I've done a few 5K's and a four mile whatever you call it, and feel like I'm ready to move into 10K-dom.  So now you know that about me.

The other thing you should know?  I have big boobs.  You know how some people knock stuff over with their over sized asses or their beer guts?  Like lamps and small children and such?  I do that too, but with my boobs.  And since they are boobs and slightly higher, it's taller children.  Well...higher when I have the right kind of support...  But you know what I mean.  One time I was able to fully support a beer bottle, drink from it, and put it back without using my hands at all thanks to those boobs.  Sure, I chipped a tooth, but that was more from the excitement in discovering the true meaning of laziness than anything else.  It especially came in handy when I was pregnant (OMG THE SIZE OF THEM) and couldn't scoot myself all the way up to the table.  I had a table of my own, thank you very much.

Big boobs.  Long line of them.  I got them from my mother, who got them from her grandmother, who got them from someone who probably took them with her from Europe on a boat large enough to accommodate. So when it comes to needing a sports bra to help strap those bad boys down, I'm not messing around.  I need something that will provide the stability of duct tape with the comfort of a fluffy stuffed bunny.  Not that I would wear a stuffed bunny as a bra.  Well...maybe, but the ears better not cut into my shoulders....

I have two sports bras that are exactly the same.  Same brand, same size, same stitching, purchased at the same time, same random person who personally and oh so lovingly inspected them and stuck their personalized number sticker on them.  The difference between the two is that one is black, and the other is white.

Oh.  And that the white one sucks.  A Lot.

I don't understand how that can happen.  Same friggin' bra, and yet so very different.

The black one is my favorite.  It supports, and slims (they are like support tank top bra whatevers), it does my taxes, and never asks me what's wrong and if I want to talk about it.

The white one?  It's pretty much out to destroy me.  Every single time I try to run in it, somehow it allows one boob to make its way slyly out the arm hole until it's practically running all by itself.  So then I have to turn into a jogging contortionist in order to wrangle that bad boy back into containment.

It's hard enough to remember to breathe, chew gum, keep my legs moving, AND watch where I'm going.  That damn white bra expects me to also flip myself inside out just to ensure it's doing the job it was purchased to do.

Negative, ghost rider.  That's why I try to always wear the black one.


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