My Cleavage Strikes Again
My cleavage struck again. I swear, it’s like a Pink Panther movie. I was wearing a red t-shirt over a turquoise tank top and I suppose the front of my tee had slipped down a little and boom, my boss told me I wasn’t dressed appropriately. I pulled my t-shirt up, and still it wasn’t enough. I had to put a sweatshirt on and zip the motherfucker up to my neck.
Shit, I don’t want to be a danger to society or poke anyone’s eyes out with my tits, but for the love of god my cleavage and I just want to live our lives with a little piece and quiet. The only time someone should feel free to comment on my cleavage is if I’m fucking them and it better be in the positive.
But nope, this new development has my mom and one of my good friends shooting each other jokes left and right about the status of my clev. Bah, humbug. Broad picture, when people think of sexual harassment they think of some dude boss using his rank to fuck his secretary or something very much along those lines. Sexual harassment laws were put into effects to protect people from unwelcomedleers and jeers and whatnot, but from what I understand they extend to protecting people from unwanted sexually charged environments. Well, when someone brings attention to my breasts by commenting on what I wear, even if it’s to tell me I’m showing too much cleavage, it creates a sexually charged atmosphere that I am uncomfortable with.
Sexually charged, because I am made to feel uncomfortable about my own sexuality, and body. Bull crap, I say. Bull crap.