Last week C--and I went to J's housewarming in Elgin. We sat on the couch and let people come talk to us, which is what we often do because we're lazy. We're also gregarious enough to pull it off.
Looking around, I spied something on the bookshelf.
"Is that a...boob?"
"Yes," C. explained. "J was in a play where they had Amazons who, you know, supposedly sliced off their boobs to fight better with their swords--"
"Yes, because Lord knows we get all kinds of clumsy with these things in the way."
"Yeah. Anyway, My uncle made that boob for her for the play."
As the evening wound down, we threw away our plates and cups, said our goodbyes, and left with the boob in my purse. Since then we have posted its adventures on Facebook.
I called J. the next day about an unrelated issue.
"GIVE ME BACK MY BOOB!" she wailed.
"I have no idea what you're talking about. You are clearly hung over, still."
Tonight C and I went with K. to a friend's house here in the city. On the way we stopped at a wine store, and I ran in.
"May I help you?" asked the solicitous man behind the counter.
I took out the object.
"What goes well with a bronze boob?"
Pausing just a moment to look at the boob, he asked, "will you be drinking out of it?"
"Oh, no, just drinking with it as a sort of mascot. We want a fitting drink. A tittini? Kidding. Wine is fine."
"Red or white?"
He thought for about two seconds, reached over to a display, and handed me a bottle.
"You, Sir, are an artist."
Thus it was we watched movie, ate pizza, drank Temptation and gave the boob a night out with the girls.
"Too bad we can't send it back in pieces. You know, like cut off the nipple," said C.
"Yeah but without a nipple a boob is useless. I mean, it has no point," I said.
HA HA HA.