A POST ABOUT MY BOOBS

I went to see Harry Potter 5 this weekend. I totally wish I was 12 so I could crush on the Weasley twins. I think I just like their characters.

Yeah. That's it. Their characters.

Before the movie, Eric and I were getting some snacks. He thought it best to let me pay with my card and he would just give me cash, and lets face it folks, I NEVER carry cash so any opportunity to garner some is welcomed.

"How much is popcorn?" he asked riffling through his wallet.

"Four dollars, plus gratuity."

He paused, and glared at me. "I'M NOT GIVING YOU A GRATUITY."

"Why not?" (I may or may not have pouted at this point.)

"Why should I?"

"I'll let you look at my boobs?"

"Oh! So ten dollars sound good? What does that make it now? Grape slushies and money to get to look at your chest?"

For the record, I didn't take his money.

I should have. But I didn't. It might teach his dumb ass a lesson, because SERIOUSLY guys. Why pay for something that, given you don't get caught, YOU CAN DO AS MUCH AS YOU WANT FOR FREE?!

I mean, I know I have wonderful boobs. And they certainly have served me well over the years (and, between you and me, I always get a shit eater grin on my face when I find out that people I had previously thought had failed to fall victim to the boobs admit their defeat), but to go so far as to let me hold them for ransom?

And I wasn't even wearing a low cut top. Unlike Friday night. Friday night I had on my cute, little, pink, strappy tank top. While standing at Kroghetto. Waiting for one of the Matts.

And I felt very much like a prostitute standing on the corner waiting for a trick to drive by. And that shirt? Doesn't even show the amount of titty that this bridesmaid dress is going to put up there on display. NOT EVEN CLOSE.