OUT THERE

I'm not against cleavage, but I shouldn't have to see it at the breakfast table. With four daughters of reasonable or greater endowment, there's been a healthy serving of "breast" at most meals. I try to resist the urge to pull their necklines a touch higher but often fail. I'm then met with an annoyed, "Mom!"

I'm talking about my own cleavage though. I've not been an advocate of "have it, flaunt it". I'm a fan of the turtleneck, everything tucked in tight and out of sight, a nice secure feeling, my private parts all ... private.

So, I challenged myself to "put them out there" at a recent reading engagement. I was reading my fiction so I felt naked through to my very core so how was a little cleavage going to feel any worse and it could be a response to my new mantra, "do something that terrifies me at least once a week if not every day".

I stood behind the microphone, trembling and blushing and began to read. As I looked down I saw cleavage, my cleavage, bold and brash and I wanted to cover my chest with my arms and apologize and dash from the room. But I held my ground, read as clearly as I could and reminded myself that these breasts of mine fed four daughters, and deserved a moment in the limelight and a little applause. "Well done," the crowd could have been saying about my breasts rather than the story. "Thanks for coming out, now get into some flannel and call it a day!"

What's on for tomorrow? A barrel ride over Niagara Falls?