Swing Low Sweet Boob Of Mine

It's said that when a woman reaches a certain age she has to make a choice between her face and her arse. I choose my face but, as the regular reader knows, I have been making some rather heroic efforts at reducing the dimensions of my backside without sacrificing too much in the face department.

But nobody ever told me about the risk to my front elevation. It's large and matronly and has always been so. I remember a boy telling me, when I was about nineteen, that my boobs were like the Queen's - low slung! I was mortified. The Queen was, and still is, twenty-seven years older than me.

Back to the present day - I lament to Bert,

My boobs are destroyed with this bloody dieting. They're hanging to my waist!

He says,

Not at all.

I'm mollified. But he continues,

Sure it's just the one of them hanging to your waist.