Valet Log: 101111 — Don’t Look At My Boobs Poem
Girl walks. I
Smile at girl. She
Smiles back. I’m
Looking at her eyes. But her
Body language — looking down
At her chest, closing
Her sweater, folding
Her arms — saying,
“don’t look at my swaying, swinging, bouncing
Boobs,” makes it impossible for me
Not to.
I don’t get it. If you’ve got it flaunt it. I don’t got it and I still flaunt it : P
I know what you mean, sister. But I do get tired of being asked if I wear a codpiece. (I prefer to call it a Brolster.)