Living in a Two Ta-Ta World...

For those easily offended, skip this one…really. Last warning. Naughty stuff. Ok, you had your chance…

I’m sure it’s tough being a three ta-ta gal in a two ta-ta world.

That’s right, since so many have asked, it’s time to expose my aunt, her of the extra utter (do they even make bras for that? I’m thinkin’ nah…) Aunt McSlutty, we called her (and I’ll call her here since using her real name would probably make me a one-testicled guy). This aunt was an aunt by marriage, not really related to me, which, I mean, thank God because I had enough freaks in my family belfry as it was. This aunt married my Uncle Ed (no, not his real name), who while generally a nice guy was kind of the five-legged ant at the family picnic when it came to women. Aunt McSlutty, seven months pregnant, managed to convince dear Uncle Ed she was merely a little bloated, after which he married her anyway (wasn’t his). Point being, there were good reasons Aunt McSlutty earned her nickname. She was a very friendly sort of gal. With everybody. Maybe even barnyard animals, but I won’t go there.

Anyhoo…this aunt was proud, initially, of showing her third teat, which was actually just kind of a lump beneath her left ta-ta with an extra sorta-nipple on it. I don’t think it was functional, but with so many satisfied customers, who knows? Perhaps she was some sort of sexual alien from the planet Booberanus. I’m still not sure. Oh, how did we know she had three, I hear someone ask? Auntie wasn’t shy. Take my word for it.

She had it removed when she got into her 40s. I guess the novelty wore off. Or perhaps orders from the Mother Ship. Whatever…

For the record, I quite liked Aunt McSlutty. She was always nice to me. So were her daughters, who weren’t real particular when it came to that whole don’t-bang-your-first-cousin stigma…ask there three-headed, middle-eyed children. (yes, I am joking…mostly.) She was fond of hugging, tightly, though I am not real sure I still needed all that help with my bath once I turned 18…

I don’t know where she is now or whatever happened to her after she ran off on my uncle. But don’t think I’ll ever get the memory of that third fun-puff out of my nightmares. Maybe I should write Victoria’s Secret about a line of lingerie for that sort of thing. Then they’d really be able to lay claim to their name.

Ta-Ta Time

(Insert easy offended stop warning here…ok, proceed, brave ones…)

I miss October.

Oh, it’s not because the month contains one of my very favorite holidays, Halloween. (For horror writers everyday is kind of Halloween.) Or because of crisp apples, blazing orange pumpkins, the intoxicating scent of rotting leaves and trees fiery with color. Those things are great, but as we slip into dreary—in Maine anyway—November I long for October for another reason.

I miss October because it is ta-ta month. Yep, it’s that stimulating time when the gals of MySpace and the blogosphere implore everybody to feel their ta-tas. I’m down with that. And some of the brave and beautiful even say it with photos. Photos are goooooood. Really good.

Ta-tas. Even the word is fun to say. Ta-tas. They just roll off the tongue. Um, I mean it just rolls off the tongue.

I miss those glowing October ta-ta days. It’s one reason I’m studying so diligently for my freelance breast examiner license. Well, that and the fact that ta-tas rule. They do. Big and little, black and white, all are precious…er, never mind. Lost it there for a moment.

So I am proposing we extend ta-ta October through November (maybe longer. I can definitely see a year-long event coming on here…)

I think there’s a French slang for ta-tas: ninny or ninnie or something to that effect. So I’m thinking Ninny November. No c’mon you didn’t think I would call it Nipple November, did you? Y’all know I can’t say nipple on here.

There are ta-ta police, you know…

Things that Dangle, Part 2

Ok, since I promised to continue with last week’s topic, dangling, those easily offended should change the channel now.

One…two…three…

You had your chance…


I am pretty certain if I had boobs I would never leave the house. I spend way too much time scanning the, um, boob tube, for them, worshipping from afar and anear. So if I had a pair of my own…problem solved. Right?

Well, maybe not. I get a notion they’re a lot more fun when you don’t have to haul them around or worry about them flopping out every time you bend over. Plus who needs more things that dangle and get caught in doors at unfortunate moments? I mean, really. But at least they don’t have the problem with slamming toilet seat covers in the dead of night. Unless you go to bed with a bottle of tequila and find yourself crawling to the porcelain goddess in the dark. Freak accidents and all that.

Um…oh, sorry, I was momentarily distracted by something dangling and fluffy…

So where was I? Oh, yeah, why are we so fascinated with dangling parts, anyway? Wish I knew. But since we were made with ‘em, I’m sure there must be a good reason.

So I will end this with two thoughts: One, I am seriously thinking about starting a Boobs for Books program. So fire up those digital cameras! Joking. Sorta. Maybe. I think.

And two, it could have been worse when it comes to talking about things that dangle…but talking about hemorrhoids for a few paragraphs really isn’t very appealing...

And to all those Dark Biters out there on my list, have a safe and spooky Halloween! For me it’s the only time of the year that Peanut Butter cups might get my attention off other types of cups.

Pffft, who am I kidding?