Once upon a time, I had boobs. Great boobs. You know the kind. The pre-baby, pre-weight gain/weight loss, pre-nursing boobs. They were cute and perky. Sometimes I miss them. Sometimes I realize it doesn't matter. But, I still hold a tiny bit of hope that they will return to their former glory...without a surgeon becoming involved.
I used to massage an older couple years ago. The wife was a little crazy (to put it mildly). She would take a sleeping pill and a muscle relaxer before each massage. I would like to blame the following story on her pill popping, but I'm afraid she would have done it without impaired judgment.
Here I was, quietly massaging, enjoying the lovely music and calming aromas, when suddenly she sits up and says, "You know, you really have nice breasts. What kind of bra are you wearing?" And before I could react, she felt me up. Two hands and a firm grip. No joke.
Still wanting to get paid for the massage (and at this point wondering if I am going to get my license revoked) I kindly helped her lie back down onto the table and told her I got my bra at Target.
I've gotta say, boobs can be a blessing and a curse. But, since I really don't have any, I don't have to worry about it.