Okay, so I know I’m no Halle Berry, but I’ve long maintained that she’s on the short list to play me in the movie of my life.

Like Madonna,   I like to reinvent myself from time to time.  Last year, it was accessories and tight tee-shirts.  This year?

The Summer of Cleavage

Yeah, I said it.

I declared it online just last week.  Two days ago, as if heaven-sent, a former neighbor dropped off a bag of gently used or brand new  mostly designer duds her fashionista adult daughter didn’t want.  As it turns out?  Many of the clothes accentuate the girls.

The Universe is telling me, yes, yes, it is indeed,  The Summer of Cleavage.   [insert the appropriate sound effect]

I’m not talking about the ta-tas being completely out.  No, I don’t want to be tacky. I do believe there is a time and place. However, I’m blessed to still have a nice swell of a bosom, and I should let it out.  Let’s face it, I won’t be able to do this forever.   Anyway, breasts can be absolutely regal if done correctly.

Perhaps releasing the girls, letting them see some sunlight (instead of keeping them under wraps until/unless I’m out at night or on special occasions)  might boost the ego and mood and put me further in touch with my femininity.  Hell, it’s worth a shot.

So,  with some occasional help from “our friends at Victoria’s Secret” (channeling Jesse Eisenberg/Mark Zuckerberg from “The Social Network”), bring on the V-necks, the scoop necks, the sun dresses  and say “Heyyyy!”  .  .  .  to  the girls.

Just Me With . . . boobies.

Bonus, it freaks out my kids.  Ha!

Vanessa could play me in the movie too. Have her people call my people.