Because the bounce-o-meter will let you procrastinate for another 5 minutes

I honestly saw this and assumed it was a joke… really… the Bounce-o-meter… I can’t tell you my profound joy at being disproved…

Oh, did you think I was being clever and oh so witty when I called it the bounce-o-meter???  You can thank the folks at for that gem.

Thing is though, hilarious (tsk tsk) as it is, the bounce-o-meter is kinda pissing me off now.  Why? Because I want one.  One of their nifty brassieres I mean.

I’m 34 and a larger bosomed gal so I choose not to stand in front of the mirror and really examine how saggy my boobs may be – there are some things that best not to know. I can’t change it so I choose to ignore it but now, the fucking bounce-o-meter has got me thinking about the possibility, however remote, that my boobs, the one’s on which I’ve prided myself for many years, may no longer be exactly as great as I imagine them to be.

There’s no doubting they once were. Great.

Fucked if I can be arsed putting a whole lot of effort into examing the harsh truth… let’s face it, laziness clearly overrides any real desire to be perky. And you know, men will still be men (and lesbionics will still be lesbionics for that matter), they WILL still get looked at (the boobs not the men you imbecile)…

I choose to continue down the path of denial, thank you very much, so just stop judging me. Crack whore.

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