Pillow Talk

I'm sure that every new couple has had a strange and memorable conversation or two as they lay beside each other, snuggling in bed. Once, in the early days of our relationship, Fawn and I talked about bras sizes and how they're calculated. To be more precise, we talked about what my bra size would be. To be even more precise, Fawn talked about what my bra size would be. I really didn't need to know but Fawn insisted and, using a mysterious bra-size-calculating formula - one that must have been developed by the world's greatest physicists and mathematicians - she enthusiastically determined that I, owing to my skinniness, would have a negative bra size.

I was OK with this, so imagine my shock when, several years later in the heat of the day as I'm doing some gardening with my shirt off, Fawn blurbs out, "I think you could fit into a training bra now."

Nice.

I think she meant it as some sort of compliment; like I have pecs now or something.  At least, I hope that's what she meant because I really don't like the idea of having man-boobs.