While I sit here with Hank and Violet, waiting for The Rapture I figured I’d give you a much-anticipated update on my boobs! The Rapture AND boobs! What more could a human being ever want? I mean, the end of the world is at hand but you can’t go until you hear about my boobs, right?
I’m no weaning expert and I haven’t got around to googling exactly how one goes about weaning. So I decided to stop offering boob during the day and only give it at night and in the morning. Which meant that my cup runneth over. Literally. All night long. Felt like I was wetting the bed.
I used up all my nursing pads during The Great Engorgement of 2011 so I was fresh out. And what with the apocalypse at hand, why would I buy more?
Sometime around three in the morning I woke up to a throbbing chest so I stumbled into the kitchen and shoved a wad of paper towels up my shirt but it was still sopping wet by morning. I was never so glad to hear Henry rustling around in his crib. I brought him in pronto so he could get to work deflating my chest, which, I’m not kidding, could rival Anna Nicole Smith’s – when she was alive, that is. Except, hell, her knockers are fake so they’re still massive, years after death. Oy vey. I just had the worst mental image of what fake boobs probably look like after someone has been dead for awhile. There’s probably, like, a skeleton and then, when there is no flesh left, the little sandwich baggie looking boobie just kind of drops down into the rib cage maybe? Because what would it be attached to? Also? What in God’s name am I talking about? I spose I just got to wondering because Jesus is going to be raising up dead bodies in the next little while and I just wanted to know what I can expect to see, you know?
Listen, I’m having a rough couple of days, so forgive me for speculating about dead Anna Nicole and fake boobs. I’m finding stringing words together a bit difficult this morning. Also, we’re all going to die tonight, anyway, right?
Wrong.
I’m going to do a little research on weaning and write something a bit more coherent this Monday. See you then.
I’m no weaning expert and I haven’t got around to googling exactly how one goes about weaning. So I decided to stop offering boob during the day and only give it at night and in the morning. Which meant that my cup runneth over. Literally. All night long. Felt like I was wetting the bed.
I used up all my nursing pads during The Great Engorgement of 2011 so I was fresh out. And what with the apocalypse at hand, why would I buy more?
Sometime around three in the morning I woke up to a throbbing chest so I stumbled into the kitchen and shoved a wad of paper towels up my shirt but it was still sopping wet by morning. I was never so glad to hear Henry rustling around in his crib. I brought him in pronto so he could get to work deflating my chest, which, I’m not kidding, could rival Anna Nicole Smith’s – when she was alive, that is. Except, hell, her knockers are fake so they’re still massive, years after death. Oy vey. I just had the worst mental image of what fake boobs probably look like after someone has been dead for awhile. There’s probably, like, a skeleton and then, when there is no flesh left, the little sandwich baggie looking boobie just kind of drops down into the rib cage maybe? Because what would it be attached to? Also? What in God’s name am I talking about? I spose I just got to wondering because Jesus is going to be raising up dead bodies in the next little while and I just wanted to know what I can expect to see, you know?
Listen, I’m having a rough couple of days, so forgive me for speculating about dead Anna Nicole and fake boobs. I’m finding stringing words together a bit difficult this morning. Also, we’re all going to die tonight, anyway, right?
I’m going to do a little research on weaning and write something a bit more coherent this Monday. See you then.
