A Quarter Life Crisis

Last Monday while enjoying a lovely Cobb salad extravaganza from Cosi with cherry vinaigrette dressing minus the bacon (ooh sounds delicious) a piece of Gorgonzola cheese leapt down my shirt. And I mean leapt in the truest sense of the word, to spring through the air from one point or position to another. In utter shock I could do nothing but sigh and then about an hour later laugh. Honestly, this isn't the first time food products assaulted me using my cleavage as a launching target similar to the tar map on an air way strip.

Since I was in the office, it was with stealth like precision, much like a ninja I wrangled the cheese up and covertly slid it into the waste basket beneath my desk. Hopefully the security guards weren't paying attention via the employee-cam to see me under shirt grab bra slightly move forward in fluid motion so the cheese could slip out into the basket below. If so I'm sure it's making it's rotation on You tube with some funny name like caught boobie squeezing or some other nonsense like that.

In my line of work, as a chesty quarter lifer, I am used to the occasional crumb finding it's way to the mountain like terrain of my bosom. Particles seems to enjoy the hidden valley of the land I like to call the twin peaks. Until now I've been able to avoid this embarrassment during working hours. Normally it happens during random dates and social events with friends. And when I say social events, in steps brunch. Oh don't think I would forget to mention the loveliness that was the reunion brunch. My chesticales had an escapade that day as well.

I should go on the record saying that the disaster that I envisioned for brunch didn't happen. But you want to know why it didn't go down as I thought. Because most of the participants were no shows. Go figure all those big heads wouldn't have fit in my best male friend's apartment anyway. And since they didn't show, it made for a relaxed event, much like it should have been from the beginning. Without realizing I've gone off on a tangent. Back to the story at hand.

So the assault at the brunch came at the hands of my model-like friend who has the sense of humor of a twelve yr old boy. She proceeded to chuck bite size and not so bite size pieces of home fries at my cleavage. And like the hands that boobs are they proudly ripped the potatoes out of the air and kindly planted them in the crease. At first I wasn't annoyed but when I stood up the greasy potato/onion substance slid from cleavage under my bra down my stomach and almost down my pants. Nothing says a good time like some potato in your cunny. Not so much folks, not so much.

Everyone proceeded to double over with laughter, because I guess it is funny when some one's body parts are used as bulleyes for target practice. So I ask, why me. And this potato incident reminds me of when I was eating lunch in the cafeteria and one of my male friends thought it would be cute to toss grapes at me. To my shock as I turned around to face him, one of the grapes landed right in the middle of the twins. It's one thing to get laughed at by friends but a cafeteria full of college students, um maybe not. By now I should be used to this.

This is why I live for fall I can wear sweaters.