It's not as risque as can be imagined. I'm not the only one imagining something risque, am I? Because in my younger years there were sexier ways I could have burned my areola.
There was no sexy in today.
It's quite boring the way it happened actually.
We have a free-standing towel warmer in the bathroom. When I got out of the shower I tried to take my fluffy, heated towel off the rack but found that a corner of it was hooked on the clothes hamper sitting next to it. I leaned over to release the corner and that's when my areola made contact with a hot edge of the warming rack. I guess my body's perception of how low my breasts hang when bending over does not match with their actual, er, elasticity.
See. It's not really even a story but I'm telling it anyway because it's all I've got. And, yes, it does make me sad that the most blog worthy event of my day - maybe of my entire week - is so unexciting. You can be sad for me, too. And for my poor areola.
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