A Sale of Two Titties

It really is Tits Out Tuesday!

I had my mammogram today before I had breakfast. Listen, ladies, mammograms are really no big deal. Unless, I guess, you’re a 32AA. All you do is flop your breast-o-licous boobie onto a little glass plate, whilst another glass plate squishes your breast into a really amazing flesh-coloured pancake. It doesn’t hurt. It’s pressure, sure, but no more than a really randy lover would apply when trying to hoist your ass onto the washing machine for a little ‘basement bonking’. Do not fear the mam’gram!

The lab tech and I had a really animated conversation about kids and school and work while she was fondling my breasts. She took 4 ‘grams…right breast on the side, right breast top/bottom, left breast on the side, left breast top/bottom. You lift your little milky puppy up there on the glass (which has ‘length’ lines of where your nipple lands relative to the chest-wall-side of the glass…oh yes, I am BIG!) and she gently (but firmly) lifts and adjusts your breast to show its ‘good side’, moves your arm to the appropriate handle, moves your chest wall where she needs it, makes you hold your breath…buzz…pop!...and it’s done.

Later this morning I had an EKG on my murmuring heart. Which was really scary and cool. She put those round Frankenstein-clip patches on my chest, and she had a little teeny tiny ultrasound wand that she pressed against and under and on top of my left breast and around and around my heart.

I watched my heart beat. I saw the chambers. I saw little flaps flutter up and down. I freaked out a little, thinking that this was what kept me alive. It scared me worse than the mammogram.

Now I have to torture the guys at work with my tales of toplessness this morning! (Oh, I hope to make them blush, I hope I hope I hope.)

On the way to the mam’gram this morning, I passed by a party store in a tough part of town. The front windows were covered with ads for all sorts of nasty products…cigarettes…beer…condoms…and ice cream. ICE CREAM??? WTF? That’s not nasty! That’s glorious creamy nirvana! Were they insinuating that ice cream was just as bad as smokes and beer? Or were they inviting you to ‘bring the kiddies’ when you came for your fix? Miller Lite…Camels…Trojans…and Banana Fudge Ripple. Hmmm…one of these things is NOT like the others….

Sergei and Pisser did this thang (maybe *that* “thing”, but hang on), where you go to google and type in “(your name) needs”, and post five results. I took the first 5. I like 'em. Especially number 4:

1) Mona needs our help.
2) Mona needs a leg operation!
3) MONA needs to be adapted to the designer, who often uses cases, scenarios, and sketches on paper.
4) Mona needs to be so triumphantly nasty that (like Cruella De Vil) just the sight of her makes you eager to see what she’ll do next.
5) When Mona needs to see a doctor, the latter needs to be alerted that the person he/she will see is somewhere between the two sexes.

Yesh. Triumphantly nasty. That’s what I aspire to. And making you eager.