...BLAST OFF!

First of all, you have to understand that I have no breasts. I've said this many times before. But it's a critical piece of information that you must hang onto in this next blog. Otherwise I come across as a bit of a weirdo ( or even worse, a pervert!). Anyway, as a result of my being mammary-challenged, my "mini-bras" are all fully padded. I could take a swift punch in the chest and not feel a damn thing. The padding also gives the wonderful illusion that I'm at least a full A-cup. Woohoo! I'm in the big time now! Jealous? (All of my ex-boyfriends are taking a collect sigh of relief that they dodged that pathetic bullet) So anyway, my two-year-old son was sitting on my lap, playing with my hair and he suddenly looked down and grabbed ahold of my boobs. (or at least the padding of my bra) and he said, "what deez?" I said, "oh, nothin' much" (literally). Then he started the countdown: "10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1...blast off!!!!" And my breasts became critical buttons in the control room of his space shuttle. It quickly reminded me of the old "tune in Tokyo" joke. You know the one. So there we are, on the couch, my son making rocket noises and ocassionally pushing on the puffiness of my bra. And I think, "I wonder if this is going to give him a false sense of what a woman really looks like?" "Is this a good thing or bad?" "Is he going to follow in his Dad's footsteps and bring home a flat-chested woman (and love her anyway, damnit!) or will he rebel and bring home one of those freaks with a double M rack?" Anyway, because he was literally grabbing hold of a bra, and nothing else, I didn't really bother to stop him. Unfortunately, this has led him to believe that he can do this at any moment. I was waiting for my kids to get out of school and he sat on my lap, in front of the other mothers, and started counting down. I freaked out because I knew what would follow "3,2,1..." I quickly pushed him off of my lap and yelled, "noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!" It all seemed to happen in slow motion. Like a bad movie. That, of course, brought on more attention than if I had just let him grab my boob! I smiled, like a coward and said, "I thought I saw an ant on my pants." Oh lord. Good cover, Catherine. You're such a smart, quick thinker! 'Cause that was a much better response. They won't think you're an over-reacting weiner at all! I'm an idiot. I'm sure I was the hysterical highlight of many dinner conversations that night. (Narcissism is fun, isn't it?!)