Friday night, Pat, a co-worker and I went to this place called The Vig (Uptown) – there’s soon-to-be one DOWNTOWN and also one in Arcadia noneofthisisimportant. And while we were minding our own business, drinking beers, eating smoked salmon with pita bread, capers (which I hate), some sort of soft cheese, onions, balsamic spinach, tomato – pretending to be adults by ordering a very adult appetizer and actually enjoying it, I noticed giant breasts floating by. And that’s ALL I noticed, not her face, I think she had brown hair, a white peasant tube top of some sort AND BREASTS. FAKE GIANT BOWLING BALL WATERMELON ROOT-BALL SLEEPING-BAG LAUNDRY-PILE KEG BOOBS. Big boobs, if you have big boobs, whatever. If you get a boob job, whatever – but god almighty if I could sue the doctor that implanted those orcas into that woman, I would. Isn’t the point to have them “appear” real? Wouldn’t a woman want her breasts to “look” real?
Never before do I remember seeing a woman’s breasts and not her face. I’m a face first kind of person, I swear, but something about this woman’s knockers horrified me – I don’t know if it was her shirt, the lack of support, the unnatural perkiness, OMG THE LACK OF A BRA I TOTALLY FORGOT WE COULD SEE HER NIPPLES. And Pat said “Well, I know exactly what color they are.” “Yeah, so do I.”
Anyway, I’m telling you all of this and ranting about breasts because later in the evening as we were leaving, my friend and I had to use the restroom. As we waded through the mass of people, following neon signs through this weird maze, who do we see primping in the mirror outside the door but Boobs, nipples and all.
My thought process: Yes, of course, you’re rich and have money and when I’m able to peel my eyes away from your BOOBS, you have a pretty face and if we were ever drowning in the same water, you would probably survive because mine are so inverted they would suck me under the water and yours probably have honing devices and those blinky lights that alert airplanes when you’re stranded somewhere.
We entered the bathroom ahead of her, she was busy, remember? And waited in line. There were three stalls. Right, middle, left. So BOOBS entered right behind me in line. I’m was about 4th to go. Right opened up. Left opened up again. Right opened up again. But Middle. Middle was struggling. Middle was in the middle of something I wouldn’t bestow on anyone in a public restroom. Middle was taking her sweet. ass. time.
I was next. Boobs and I waited. Which one of us would the universe decide to punish?
Middle opened up. Fuck.
And then, because Friday was such a good damn day and I should have played the lottery, gone sky diving, submitted every shit poem I’ve ever written, Left opened up at the exact same time. Two doors for my choosing, available, ready, waiting. ALLELUIA. ALLELUIA ALLELUIA!
You bet your ass I went Left, I ran left, I left Boobs to the poop stall feeling the world had finally served some justice for the booblettes wandering the planet. To me, this was on PAR with Tom Brady NOT going to the Super Bowl again – you’re welcome. The Universe has again been righted.
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