I came downstairs yesterday morning and realized I should do my "exercises" before I ate breakfast. Yes, I just put the word exercise in quotes because, let's be honest, what I'm doing at this point cannot qualify as real exercise. But I'm moving, and as small of a movement as this is, I wold normally still blow it off, so I'm just glad I am making it a habit. Anywho, I looked up day 2's requirement on the list: 35 jumping jacks and 15 crunches.
On Monday, day 1, I "exercised" between breakfast and lunch, after showering and dressing, so I had a bra on. Yesterday morning under my PJs I had on….how can I describe it, because it cannot be considered a bra. A bra must have support, lift. The thing I wear to bed is kinda sorta shaped like a bra, but it's a pull over and barely maintaining any elasticity. What do you call something when it's purpose is, basically, just to sit between my boobs and my stomach? Cuz that's what I wear to bed each night. It's basically a layer of material that allows me to avoid the sticky, sweatiness of having my boobs sit on my upper stomach. I wonder if it falls more in the "bro" or "manssiere" category (Seinfeld reference. If you don't know what it means, most likely you're too young to be a fan of the show. Go watch "The Doorman" episode from season 6. Trust me, my use of the words "bro" and "massiere" will not only mean something to you after watching the episode, but it will also make you laugh. And, you'll be able to throw it out at the appropriate moment in a conversation with older people and get a great laugh from us. Now, back to my garment…) See, moobs (man boobs) are not muscular nor perky. They are flabby and sit on the upper stomach. So, yeah, I had on my "bro" yesterday morning. (Kramer and Mr. Costanza argue throughout the episode about the name – bro or manssiere. I actually prefer the manssiere, but since bro is shorter to type, I'm going with that. I'm giggling at the keyboard thinking of that episode. Please go watch it if you haven't already. It will make your life better. You can pull the memory out when you are stuck in traffic or up all night with a sick child and it will make you smile.) So, I debated going back upstairs and putting on a real bra or, better yet, a sports bra because I know my bro will not contain the girls when I start jumping those jacks. But I didn't. Cuz I'm lazy. And I paid for that laziness. I walked out to the living room, stood with my feet together and hands by my side. 35 jumping jacks. How hard could it be? We can do this, girls; we've been through worse. Right? WRONG.
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