Let's talk about my friend, "Pacha." I wrote about her awhile ago. I called her Pacha because that name sounds very sassy--like someone who wears big boots AND knows how to make soup.
If you haven't read that post, you might want to since it's short and will tell you everything concerning Pacha and her small boobs.
The thing is that . . . now get ready for a shocker . . . I. AM. Pacha. I know you're all completely *stunned* with this revelation. I'll give you a minute to recuperate, by showing you this lovely picture:
Why didn't she use a Jack?
Oh that's right, the Wizard of Oz gave her boobs instead of a brain.
I seriously wanted implants when I wrote that post in April. People's comments meant so much to me though; I decided maybe I shouldn't get them. In all honesty--I still battled with what to do. I know implants aren't the right answer and that those Chinese electrocution devices really just make your nipples fall off--then you'll end up with small, nipple-less boobs like a circus performer.
But I miss the bounce in my step (for when I breastfed). I miss when the birds would chirp 'cause they knew I had boobs. I really missed all of that until yesterday happened.
I always go to the same store to get pictures developed. I think everyone goes to the same store in this lump of a town. The photo developer has greedy little eyes, a small head and a big body.
I have a problem with him because once, three years ago, he developed pictures of me in a swimming suit. I looked terrible if you want to know the truth. I'd just had a baby. We had friends in town and when we went up to the lake, pictures were a must.
Anyway, "Barney," the old developer, apparently loved those pictures of me--he likes rolls with his white meat.
I got there and he kept saying, "So . . . you had a great time at the lake? You really looked . . . I mean the place really looked great."
He is one of those yucky men who wants to have an affair--anywhere. Well, every time I've gone in since, he glances at my boobs like I'm still breastfeeding (or beastfeeding--fishducky . . . that was for you).
Well I went in yesterday and you want to know what that creep asked me? He said, "Are you still eating, or did you just get a reduction?"
In what state OF MIND is it okay to ask a woman something that personal! I AM NOT a stripper. I AM NOT a bimbo. I don't even wear tank tops or shorts (except that one time I mowed the lawn). I know I present myself to look differently on my blog, but in real life, I don't smoke. I actually inhaled that stogie on accident in that picture--big 'no no'; God did that to me. I wear very concealing things. Not like there's something to conceal other than my gun.
I want to look tough, but I'm the most approachable wisp of a person ever. I even plucked my eyebrows to give myself that mysterious "don't-ask-me-to-watch-your-children" look, but it didn't work. Plucking my eyebrows made me look even more religious and innocent. More approachable! What's a girl to do . . .
So, back to the developer--how could he think it would be okay to talk like that? Just because he sees everyone's private pictures and personal business, that doesn't make him God. God is MUCH better looking!
I would have told the manager, but he IS the manager. I would have told the owner, but I think he IS the owner. I'm just never going there again.
Oh and while we're at it, you wanna know what I said in reply?
I couldn't even be spicy like I normally am lately. Instead I was all sorts of weird because that man saw me in a swimming suit!
My knees knocked together like I needed to pee. My breath got all death-like. Then I grew quiet and said, "I love eating, and no reduction here. I just lost a bunch of weight." I ducked my head down like a turtle and practically shriveled as I left the store.
So, I guess I shouldn't get boobs because I'll have creeps like that asking if they're implants.
That man is just yucky on so many levels.
Do some people have no shame?