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Tit Monday


Browning GTS
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>

>

>

> Ah, *** Monday. It's not that far off now,

>that glorious

>day when, Heading into work on the bus, or walking to the Tube, or

>sitting on

>the train,you find yourself suddenly chirpier than you have been in

>months.

>

>

>

> You find yourself smiling at strangers again.

>There is a

>mild involuntary tumescence in your trousers that comes and goes

>throughout the

>morning with the comforting regularity of a heartbeat.

>

> And then you get a text around lunchtime from

>a mate

>which says: "At

>

> last, *** Monday!" And you instantly

>understand why

>you are so happy.

>

>

>

> For *** Monday is that special day in the

>year when, for

>the first

>

> time, the temperature rises above that

>magical point

>which causes girls getting dressed in the morning to decide to show a

>bit of

>skin. After months of dull colours and chunky knit, the world's birds

>suddenly

>dive into last summer's wardrobe (they've not had chance to buy this

>season's

>stuff) and chuck it on without a thought. Your urban

>

> landscape is suddenly lightened with acres of

>naked arm

>and leg and, after many dark months of burrowing, breasts rising to the

>surface

>like moles at dusk.

>

>

>

> Big breasts in white work shirts straining at

>the

>buttons. Small Breasts braless in vest tops, the nipples frotted by

>ribby

>fabrics. Breasts in summer dresses bouncing in the distance so that

>they catch

>your eye before you even notice there is someone wearing them. Breasts

>nudging

>out from the crowd at traffic islands, quivering to cross the

>

> road...

>

>

>

> And you know it is nearly summer. For

>previous

>generations, the arrival of spring was heralded by the sound of the

>first

>cuckoo. For us, it is *** Monday.

>

>

>

> Not that it always falls on a Monday. Like

>Easter, ***

>Monday is a Moveable feast. Last year it fell on a Friday. Friday 29

>April, to

>be precise, when temperatures maxed out at 22.1C after nothing much

>above 16C

>all year.

>

> It last fell on a Monday in 2004, when

>temperatures leapt

>to 22C on 24

>

> April. And then, of course, there is ***

>Monday Night.

>You see, in early summer, temperatures drop off very dramatically when

>night

>falls (*** Friday 2005 dropped away to a parky 11.8C). But the dollies

>are not

>prepared.

>

> Slightly stunned by the morning heat, they

>drag out the

>summer clothes but forget to bring a cardie (a mistake they will not

>make again

>until next year), so that when they're all standing outside All Bar One

>after

>work celebrating the arrival of spring, their barely covered nipples

>have no

>protection from the cold. It's like a Bring-and-Buy sale where

>

> everyone has brought hat pegs.

>

> It's like a prog-rock gig where, instead of

>lighters,

>everyone is holding up nipples.

>

>

>

> So when will *** Monday fall this year? Will

>you be the

>first to text your mates with the announcement? Do not shoot your bolt

>too

>early. There will be false starts. You will smell fresh cut grass and

>see a

>couple of early starters and feel compelled to declare *** Monday. But

>your

>more level-headed friends will tell you to hold your horses, keep

>

> your powder dry, don't fire until you see the

>whites of

>their bra straps

>

>

>

> As the poet said:

>

> One bold Northern slapper in a bikini doth

>not a summer

>make

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came across it yesterday in the post office of all places? big tall buxom wench spilling the lot out and the girls behind the counter (on the kids life) were disscussing her bloody cleavage with her? must admit to wanting to join in the conversation ( manged a good eyeball mind!)

cheers KW

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