Cupping her hands underneath her breasts, she pushed them up slightly then let them go. Gravity deemed the only way for them to flop was south. She remembered having been inspired by those liberated ladies of the Swinging Sixties who, allegedly, threw all caution to the wind and made a bonfire of their bras. Letting her perky little darlings live free two decades ago might have seemed like a good idea at the time, but that invigorating liberation was having a knock-on effect now.
Bumping into her soul mate for life, to find out that her ovaries were not shivvelled prunes after all.
We had spent other significant birthdays together, but I just didn’t want to celebrate being a bloody quadragenarian.