No, not the game Booby Trap, actual, well you know, BOOBY TRAPS. Always ahead of the curve I got to bypass training bras altogether and went right to the real thing at the tender age of 10. I've been 5'6 since middle school. Sadly, I think that's referred to as "peaking early", so it must be all downhill from here. Anyway, while out on the playground for recess I bent over to pick up a dodgeball (we were once so young and so barbaric) and suddenly felt a flutter of movement on my chest. Not wanting to go ballistic, I calmly thumped my chest a few times but the motion didn't stop. I had a complete Tarzan moment going ape****, beating my chest while running and hollering until whatever entity had invaded my shirt ceased and desisted. After building up immunity to constant craziness, none of my peers showed much reaction. We had recess just prior to boarding the home bound bus and I wasn't about to peek down my shirt and start digging around in front of fellow students to see what life and death drama had transpired in my bra. So I waited until I was in the serenity of my own bathroom to look. That's when I discovered a full sized dragonfly dead and dismembered in my cleavage. The crushed shimmery irredescent blue wings made me feel despondent and nauseous simultaneously. Apparently the poor creature couldn't resist the allure of my stinky boob sweat and died because of giving in to malodorous temptation. I discarded the bra into the trash and immediately took a shower. I even composed a short poem and wished the dragonfly remains lying in the trash a peaceful afterlife.
I gazed down into my brassiere and felt depressed
For there lied a dragonfly, smashed to oblivion upon my breast
When I told Papi this tragic tale he just laughed and said that at least the dragonfly died happy. Pervert.