Dear Mr. Gas Meter Reader Man:
Please forgive me. I am so sorry I flashed you earlier this evening. You see, I had too much perfume on, and that combined with the flora and fauna, caused my allergies to go nuts ALL DAY LONG. As soon as I came home, I whipped off my lovely green sweater and washed down my cleavage (the place where my perfume resides) but before I could put on a clean shirt, Baby Girl asked to go out. You know my yard, it is full of trees. Nary a neighbor to be seen. I was absolutely certain none of the neighbors would see my bra-clad-boobs and I felt good about walking out topless. I was wrong. Though you are not a neighbor, you were there. You were subjected to my heaving bosoms. I am sorry. If Baby Girl had not been pooping at the exact time we made eye contact, I would have run away sooner. Again, I apologize. And, if I may be so forward, I would suggest that you might want to whistle while you work or hum even. It might forewarn people of your presence and prevent such occurrences from happening in the future. Just a thought.
The Girl With No Shirt and A Pooping Black Dog