I am living in a nightmare; I cannot escape the "Little Black Dress" dilemma every time I go out. Panty lines, freezing legs, exposed toes, the bulge of garters and thigh-highs, and the anxiety of matching coats.
Enter the "Little Black Shirt." Throw me a tee and a pair of low-rise, hip-hugging jeans, strap on the four-inch high-heeled boots, and I am good to go. Who says I have to freeze? Who says that I have to fall out of my top in order to be sexy? A little discretion lets the mind wander. Little Black Shirt, I love you. You make me comfortable, you keep me warm, you allow me to wear miniskirts and slacks till my heart's content, but most of all, you slim my waist down and show just enough shoulder to make that Hot Toddie in the corner turn his head.
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