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| The Low Down |
| 12.01.03 (10:02 pm) [edit] |
My holiday weekend was ok. Not awesome, not amazing, nothing special, no fireworks, no random shagging of complete strangers, no accidents with the electric carving knife, didn't get pulled over by the police, didn't get to slide down the fireman's pole. Nothing happened, except that I kept having breast-related accidents. In October I was haunted by phallic images, in November I won the booby prize.
Boob-job #1: The day after Thanksgiving, my brother and I decided to go watch a movie. I wanted to see Master and Commander or Bad Santa. Bud doesn't like adventures on the high seas or Russel Crowe and he wants to save Bad Santa for a date (that he doesn't even have yet). Yeah, once again, I get passed over for girlfriend of the week/day/moment/future. Anyway, we ended up seeing Timeline because I apparently bought him the book it's based on and Paul Walker is hot. That's right, you heard it here. Paul Walker is hot! The cinema has stadium seating and the rows are pretty close together. While watching the previews, this lady and her hubby try to squeeze pass the people sitting directly behind us. I felt her sweater fall on my head. So I look up and behind to see what's up, just in time to see these really large mammary glands heading towards my face. WHAM! Right on the kisser, as they used to say. I move my head in time to avoid her armpit, but the damage is already done. Let's just say she didn't smell fresh. She says, "Excuse me," and continues down the row like it was nothing - the most natural thing in the world. UGH! I'm desperately trying to erase the smell of stale powder and rancid butter from my nostrils. The movie was pants by the way.
Boob-job #2: On Saturday, I was at a dinner-party and I decided to wear these boots with 3 and a half inch heels, just because I hate myself. I spent most of the party balancing myself from chair to chair and walking super slow. After waiting 3 hours for dinner to be served, everybody descended on the kitchen where the buffet was. I got there after most people and was famished. Moving from the kitchen counter to the breakfast nook proved to be treacherous. I skidded on a kitchen mat and with my dodgy shoes lost my balance. I reached out for the nearest person, which happened to be another seriously well-endowed woman. As I steadied myself, I realized I had used her breasts like handle bars and had undone her front-closing bra. I was so embarrassed and she seemed more concerned that I hadn't injured myself. She didn't even run to the bathroom or anything, she just continued to serve food like what happened was the most natural thing in the world. UGH!
Boob-job #3: I went to church on Sunday morning and decided to wear a boatneck blouse with a demi-bra. Note to self: no amount of cleavage is acceptable at church. Now I probably lost you guys with the demi-bra. A demi-bra is like a balcony in shape, it lifts and separates but doesn't provide full coverage. Are we clear now? Can I get an "Amen"? Good. During bible study these ladies came in to teach us how to dance these spitirual dances to praise God and I was forced to volunteer. One of the moves required us to jump 4 times and yell "Hallelujah". I jumped and on the 4th jump I popped right out of my bra and flashed the other dancers. I know these are my church brethren and they are supposed to be tolerant and forgiving but I really don't want them to know me that well. I just wanted to die. Die. Die. Die.
Thus endeth my boobilicious weekend. UGH
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posted by: trina (reply)
post date: 12.05.03 (9:59 am)
Oh Nat! I am in tears. Those boob tales are HILARIOUS!!! Thanks for the laugh!!!!!
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