A super quick story tonight–but a good one.

So, was making dinner when Squish got home from practice. Her dad had to go run an errand, so there I was, finishing dishes and stirring the pot, when she starts a series of complicated maneuvers that most women will recognize from some point in their lives: the taking off of a sports bra without actually taking off the shirt that went over it.

I watched this, wide-eyed.

“So, uh, was that bothering you, Squish?”

“No. It was just time for it to go.”

“So, uh, bra-o’clock then?”

She nodded seriously. “Uh-huh. What time is bra-o’clock for YOU, Mom?”

“About two hours after you’re in bed.”

“Man, that’s rough.”

“Yeah. Tell me about it. Uh, go put that in the wash, okay?”

“Sure. What’s for dinner?”


“Awesome! Happy bra-o’clock!”

“Yeah. To you too.”

*sigh* ftr? As I blog? I’m still wearing my bra. Lucky little Squisher.

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