Ah, England in the spring. The flowers.
The trees, the birds, the sunshine.
The completely inappropriate exposure of great, giant, bouncing, heaving bosoms.
(You were expecting a picture there, weren’t you?)
I know better than to be surprised that, when the temperatures in the UK rise, the clothes come off. This is a nation without shame when it comes to clothing: although there are some very well dressed folks here, there are, well, many who need immediate intervention by the crew of What Not to Wear. Like the ones you see in the spring and summer who wear tight white t-shirts with a fire-engine red bra underneath, or a spaghetti-strap top with the (not very well supported) double D’s (or F’s, or G’s) hanging out in all their glory. (And then some.) In England, if the sun is shining, then, it appears, anything goes. Let’s face it: there are some people who can get away with a tight tank top (but whether they should or not is another matter) and there are those who can’t, which seems to me to be the majority of people here who sport this fashion.
They say “when in Rome,” but this Lancaster County girl is going to dress firmly on the side of appropriate, veering off to the side of slightly boring, fashion. I can only hope that, when we are in Paris next week, that it’s too early in the season for anyone to be lying by the Seine, sunbathing topless.