When you can't write, blow bubbles out your boobs.
I want to write, but I'm stuck. Multiple drafts going, most of which I want to finish, but I'm hesitant. An urge to create, to purge my mental attic, but faced with the obstacles of other projects, other laundry piles, and other mountains of procrastination. But this morning as I buckled my front-clasping bra after unwinding it from itself like a 1980's telephone cord, I thought about how much it felt like I was shrugging on a gun holster. But then, as nostalgic and Bonnie and Clyde-ish as that seems, and as much as I'd love for my front-clasping bra to actually be a gun holster, I'd really prefer they holster something much more entertaining. And so instead of writing about my children still believing in Santa Claus, or my relationship with my mother, or life's next big chapter, I have concepted the first ever Bubble Blower Bra. Raise your hand if you want one.