Picture it, Today, Oklahoma City.
I'm enjoying a delicious cinnamon roll that a local account manager was nice enough to bring in for us. It had lots of cinnamon, and lots of sugary glaze on the top.
I don't know how you eat a cinnamon roll, but the correct way is to peel the round layers from the outside in (obvs). See drawing:
So here I am, enjoying this deliciousness. And then it happens.
A big chunk of the crunchy sugar glaze on top falls off the cinnamon roll. And where does it fall you may be asking?
Down my shirt.
No bigs, right?
Except, I'm wearing a low-ish cut shirt and the glaze went straight into my bra.
I'm going to let that sink in for a second.
See second drawing:
“Okay.. so that sucks. I'll just get it out real quick.”
WRONG! IT EFFING MELTED.
Melted. In my bra. So I'm sitting there with a sticky ta-ta.
What. The. What.
So I start thinking about my life choices and what has led me to this point in my life where I'm sitting at work with a sticky ta-ta
STICKY. TA-TA.
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