The other day, I sat on the train next to a woman who was storing her cell phone in her cleavage.
I $#!t you not.
The cell was in a bright pink cover, which was cute and coordinated well with the girl/woman's outfit. But it was nestled securely in her ample assets, which, like the phone, were on full display. (It looked something like the photo above, but her look was less sportif.)
Perhaps her cell was set on "vibrate," and she either really didn't want to miss that call or needed a little extra joy in her life. Perhaps I'm getting old, not more mature as I like to say, and this is what the kids are doing now.
I was going to run off a whole litany of why this is wrong in so many exciting and varied ways, but really, that would be redundant. If only I'd had the moxie to take a photo of her... But my own phone was, tragically old-fashionedly fuddy-duddily, in my bag.
Qué-evah, chicas.
