On Wednesday it was hot.  Like the pit of Hades hot, frying eggs on the sidewalk, don’t even look at me because it just makes me sweat kind of hot.    So hot that I considered going sans bra for a bit.  That didn’t come to pass — we are involved in a number of family activities, after all — but you can bet your over-the-shoulder-boulder-holders that I whipped that joker off as soon as we got home.

After another day of running here, there, and everywhere, when we got in the door, I just dropped our stuff, sat down, unsnapped, and let the girls breathe.  I left the bra sitting on the table while I sorted through the mail and the other detritus that had accumulated over the past few days.

Morgan, in one of her many laps around the house, rolled on through the room, stopping short when she saw my bra keeping me company.

“Whoa!” she said, eyeing the upright cups.  “Is that your bra? That’s really big. I mean those things right there.  Those round parts. They’re really big.  Kind of like two hats attached together, kind of like a visor.  Or like a really big hat.  Yeah, like a really big hat.  Can I watch a show?”

I’m sporting a pretty average size Wacoal bra, but to her 4 year old eyes, must have looked like this:

I need to count my blessings that she just caught sight of my bra and not my underwear.