Ok ladies, let's talk boob hay...
(men, you can just drop out right now unless, that is, you want to know what all the bother is about)
Boob hay---those little (and sometimes not so little) pieces of hay that somehow make it past your Carhartts, your hoodie, AND your long underwear and lodge themselves in that perfect hay carrying pocket formed by your boobs. How that hay can overcome all of those obstacles is beyond me---each piece is like a tiny hay ninja that sets out to poke you into submission.
And boob hay often strikes at the worst possible moment...like -20 mornings when you just want to rush around and get chores done so you can get in and have a big cup of coffee to get feeling back in your fingers. But oh no, about halfway through said chores you will realize that you have a giant piece of boob hay that is apparently trying to drill its way through your left boob...necessitating the horror of deciding to either trek all the way back to the house to take off your 10,000 layers and remove it, or, do the boob hay shake wherein you pull your various layers away from your body and perform the dance of your people (if those people are mildly insane and possibly having seizures) in order to dislodge the offending piece of chaff. Often you do both because option B. is usually a total failure, despite how idiotic you make yourself look.
Or worse, when you are rushing to work/church/shopping and realize just before you leave that you forgot to throw some hay to some critter and although "dressed up", you go throw some in anyway--after all, you were being "careful", so you shouldn't have a problem, right?
Because it is inevitable that the ONE piece of boob hay that infiltrated your "town clothes" will make itself known about 10 minutes into that important morning meeting, or halfway through church service, or while you are standing in a crowded line at the grocery store. No matter when the boob hay makes it presence known, you can count on the fact that it will be when it is impossible to discreetly remove yourself to the restroom and remove it.
Oh no, the boob hay will instead stealthily wait for you to be otherwise occupied, usually in a room full of people, and then start poking you. At first you will ignore it, thinking to yourself "it's just hay, stay calm". But then it will somehow start poking harder--like a preschooler who wakes up a 5am and wants you to wake up too. You will try to roll your shoulders, stretch your arms a bit, do anything that moves it away from your more tender regions but it never works. Oh no, that boob hay just drills into you until you can finally make your escape (sometimes before you are are even given the nod to leave your pew) and then have to half way undress to fix it.
Someday I am going to invent some sort of chore outfit that entirely prevents boob hay and become a millionaire. Until that day comes, I will struggle on with the rest of you ladies.