I stared at my laptop, absorbing every last bit of the absolutely unhinged but weirdly logical research Ally and Josh had blessed me with at lunch the day before. These two were my saviors—slightly deranged saviors, but saviors nonetheless.
"You need to master the art of showing off your décolletage," Ally had declared over a mouthful of sushi. "Roll your shoulders back, lift your chin, hair back, shirt off the shoulder—own it."
Josh, being the supportive menace he was, had chimed in dramatically, "And honey, let us not forget about that award-winning ass of yours. You need the shortest hotpants you own. Like the ones you sleep in. Scratch that—shorter."
So here I was, rifling through my drawer until I found a pair of shorts that made me question my own morals. These barely covered anyt
