They Call Me Lady Bump

(Once again, that should help with the Google traffic.)

I used to feel sorry for boys at school. Having to get round the swimming pool in those hideous little budgie smugglers. Any change in mood immediately on show for all to see (and laugh and point at).

Also, I was mortified at how such a flimsy - though decidedly taut - layer of spandex was all that separated me from unimagined horrors.

My body never let me down with uncontrolled displays of emotion.

It was a good thing I didn't know what lay on the path ahead of me. You know how some seeds need fire and some need the deepest coldest snows to come to life? Something about working in mortuary-quality office air-conditioning has woken my dormant nipples. They have become self-aware and they damn well do as they please, which mostly seems to be popping out to say hello. The thickest merino wool or poly-cotton blend shall not stay them from their mission.

Even in the fiercest heat of summer I need to bring a cardie to work to maintain some modesty. It's embarrassing, not to say downright inconvenient, having to negotiate the work day with files and notebooks strategically clutched to my chest, or my arms aggressively crossed up high.

Because that's fooling everyone.