into work on the bus, or walking to the Tube, or sitting on the train, 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 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 ). 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 All Bar One 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 Northern slapper in a bikini doth not a summer make.
Fingers crossed for an early start and a long summer!
Happy perving!
The above is not my ramblings its a copy of an E-mail I was sent this morning
Tit Moday
