Wherein my sexiness is embarrassing

Today, I painted my office wearing a tank top and some super sexy fleece pants. As I was helping the kids write their thank you notes, Noodle’s friend and her dad arrived early to take her to a birthday party. I tried to hide, but Noodle threw open the door and I was forced to greet the friend and her father in my foxy painting clothes.
When I closed the door, Peeta yelled, “I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU JUST OPENED THE DOOR LIKE THAT! YOU ARE SO EMBARRASSING!”
Me: Why?
Peeta: Your boob was hanging out!
Me (First, shocked that he used the word boob for the first time, and then checking that the girls were contained): What? No it wasn’t!
Peeta (miming mountains on his chest): YES! LOOK AT YOU! They’re just flying out! Aah! I can’t stand it!
And so it begins. Of all the reasons for me to be embarrassing, being overly risqué was the last one I ever considered.
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