accidental wet t-shirt contest.
year 16. month 5. wednesday. 2010.
ah, the accidental wet t-shirt contest at a gym near you.
the contest is always q v. q, per usual. the winner? there probably isn’t one if you look this ridiculous.
here’s how it goes down: you become a yoga addict, you collect a series of shelf-bra’d camisoles. they are most comfortable to flow your yog-on. they were made for that non(except self)-competitive sport.
q oh-so-innocently grabs for one of a plethora of colored options from pink, purple, turquoise, yellow or orange with burnt-orange flowers, and she hits the gym. like leo’s to a dancer, she has accumulated quite the camisole stash. so much so, she can get away with wearing the camis most days of the week to the gym.
key, here: comfort people.
there have to be a few perks for the small chested chick. camis with a shelf-bra, among them.
but almost every time…every time people, as if learning my lesson is head injury impaired, i wear the camis to the gym.
“oh, this camisole will protect me,” i think most mornings. “thicker fabric, and look, nothin’s been showing while the teeth are getting scrubbed.”
q flash: just stop making decisions before coffee has entered the bloodstream.
no, i said stop…
and yet off into the wild morning, q sweats on the treadmill. sassilly, of course. drenched by the time i lift and stretch. and then i get a lil carried away. a lil too sassy for my parents’ approval. poor q poppa should have known, i’m the same girl who decided it was more comfortable to sit in an armchair after dance class with legs spread open and calves to arm-rest.
“q, close the legs, be lady like,” he tried to instill.
one glance during pec press, and i think of how he’d be so ashamed of me.
my boobs start to express themselves in many special ways. ways that even the tightest-q-posse has never seen. that lil roll of lil-ness, starts to perk out. and the way sweat has sort of formed a framed circle around the muffins, well, it just looks embarrassing to me. maybe according to the lighting at the ole boston sports club, glory days now…well, maybe i could get away with it.
but the bright lights, big mirror thing my philly club gots goin’ on, yeah – i think i need to dig deeper in drawers for a serious sports bra and tank.
while i enjoy a lil influence upon the demeanor of main line men, from time to time (this is devon Q draper, after all), i think i have crossed the line from subtle to hot mess.
q, start your own behavioral plan: check the sports-bra box on your to do list for mon, weds, fri, sat.