Ah, Tit Monday. It's not that far off now, that glorious day when,
heading
into work on the bus, Tube, or Metro you
find yourself suddenly chirpier than you have been in months.
You find yourself smiling at strangers again. There is a mild
involuntary
tumescence in your trousers that comes and goes throughout the morning
with
the comforting regularity of a heartbeat.
And then you get a text around lunchtime from a mate which says: "At
last,
Tit Monday!" And you instantly understand why you are so happy.For Tit
Monday is that special day in the year when, for the first time, the
temperature rises above that magical point which causes girls getting
dressed in the morning to decide to show a bit of skin. After months of
dull colours and chunky knit, the world's birds suddenly dive into last
summer's wardrobe (they've not had chance to buy this season's stuff)
and chuck it on without a thought. Your urban landscape is suddenly
lightened with acres of naked arm and leg and, after many dark months
of
burrowing, breasts rising to the surface like moles at dusk.
Big breasts in white work shirts straining at the buttons. Small
breasts
braless in vest tops, the nipples frotted by ribby fabrics. Breasts in
summer dresses bouncing in the distance so that they catch your eye
before
you even notice there is someone wearing them. Breasts nudging out from
the
crowd at traffic islands, quivering to cross the road...
And you know it is nearly summer.
For previous generations, the arrival of spring was heralded by the
sound
of the first cuckoo. For us, it is Tit Monday. Not that it always falls
on
a Monday. Like Easter, Tit Monday is a moveable feast. Last year it
fell
on
a Friday. Friday 29 April, to be precise, when temperatures maxed out
at
22.1C after nothing much above 16C all year.
It last fell on a Monday in 2004, when temperatures leapt to 22C on 24
April. And then, of course, there is Tit Monday Night. You see, in
early
summer, temperatures drop off very dramatically when night falls (Tit
Friday 2005 dropped away to a parky 11.8C). But the dollies are not
prepared. Slightly stunned by the morning heat, they drag out the
summer
clothes but forget to bring a cardie (a mistake they will not make
again
until next year),so that when they're all standing outside your local
after
work celebrating the arrival of spring, their barely covered nipples
have
no protection from the cold. It's like a Bring-and-Buy sale where
everyone
has brought hat pegs. It's like a prog-rock gig where, instead of
lighters,
everyone is holding up nipples. So when will Tit Monday fall this year?
Will you be the first to text your mates with the announcement? Do not
shoot your bolt too early. There will be false starts. You will smell
fresh
cut grass and see a couple of early starters and feel compelled to
declare
Tit Monday. But your more level-headed friends will tell you to hold
your
horses, keep your powder dry, don't fire until you see the whites of
their
bra straps As the poet said: one bold slapper in a bikini doth not a
summer
make.
heading
into work on the bus, Tube, or Metro you
find yourself suddenly chirpier than you have been in months.
You find yourself smiling at strangers again. There is a mild
involuntary
tumescence in your trousers that comes and goes throughout the morning
with
the comforting regularity of a heartbeat.
And then you get a text around lunchtime from a mate which says: "At
last,
Tit Monday!" And you instantly understand why you are so happy.For Tit
Monday is that special day in the year when, for the first time, the
temperature rises above that magical point which causes girls getting
dressed in the morning to decide to show a bit of skin. After months of
dull colours and chunky knit, the world's birds suddenly dive into last
summer's wardrobe (they've not had chance to buy this season's stuff)
and chuck it on without a thought. Your urban landscape is suddenly
lightened with acres of naked arm and leg and, after many dark months
of
burrowing, breasts rising to the surface like moles at dusk.
Big breasts in white work shirts straining at the buttons. Small
breasts
braless in vest tops, the nipples frotted by ribby fabrics. Breasts in
summer dresses bouncing in the distance so that they catch your eye
before
you even notice there is someone wearing them. Breasts nudging out from
the
crowd at traffic islands, quivering to cross the road...
And you know it is nearly summer.
For previous generations, the arrival of spring was heralded by the
sound
of the first cuckoo. For us, it is Tit Monday. Not that it always falls
on
a Monday. Like Easter, Tit Monday is a moveable feast. Last year it
fell
on
a Friday. Friday 29 April, to be precise, when temperatures maxed out
at
22.1C after nothing much above 16C all year.
It last fell on a Monday in 2004, when temperatures leapt to 22C on 24
April. And then, of course, there is Tit Monday Night. You see, in
early
summer, temperatures drop off very dramatically when night falls (Tit
Friday 2005 dropped away to a parky 11.8C). But the dollies are not
prepared. Slightly stunned by the morning heat, they drag out the
summer
clothes but forget to bring a cardie (a mistake they will not make
again
until next year),so that when they're all standing outside your local
after
work celebrating the arrival of spring, their barely covered nipples
have
no protection from the cold. It's like a Bring-and-Buy sale where
everyone
has brought hat pegs. It's like a prog-rock gig where, instead of
lighters,
everyone is holding up nipples. So when will Tit Monday fall this year?
Will you be the first to text your mates with the announcement? Do not
shoot your bolt too early. There will be false starts. You will smell
fresh
cut grass and see a couple of early starters and feel compelled to
declare
Tit Monday. But your more level-headed friends will tell you to hold
your
horses, keep your powder dry, don't fire until you see the whites of
their
bra straps As the poet said: one bold slapper in a bikini doth not a
summer
make.
:laughing: