I was working at the kitchen table this evening, with Tiny Dog in my lap. She peered crankily over the edge of the table at Beloved Husband, who, amused, took a photo. He showed me the picture, and I was somewhat caught off guard to see that Tiny Dog really does look quite tiny, especially when adjacent to my cleavage.
Alas.
I've resigned myself to the idea that I'll never be a tiny, dainty person; yet I must be in denial of my... ample-ness, since I am perpetually surprised/dismayed when I see photographs. I clearly need to work on my self-image. Or my diet. Or both.
Perhaps, someday, I'll be fine with what I see in pictures.
I can aspire.
Even two chihuahuas may be no match for the mammaries.
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