Cosmopolitan Magazine informs me that my breasts called. “What did they say,” I screamed at Julia Stile’s windblown, smug face on the cover of the magazine, “TELL ME WHAT THEY SAID!?” Because my breasts are like an ex-boyfriend that I’m consciously trying to avoid talking to, and Cosmopolitan magazine is like the roommate who refuses to pass on his messages until she does. I got it out of Julia Stile’s smug windblown face by shaking the magazine until it told me.
Anyhow, turns out of my breasts called to say “they’re feeling neglected!”
Wow, that was stupid of them. Breasts, look, I don’t want to talk that much. Really. We’re not even together these days, apparently, since you need to call and all. But I have a job. There’s stuff I’ve got to be getting done. In the future, these are things it’s cool to call me to say:
1) I have cancer.
2) Why does your new boyfriend knead us like a loaf of bread?
3) Stop dating men with beards. Dating that dude make us look like the page in the skin disease book that teenage boys jerk off to. (Stop being so sensitive, breasts!)
4) The silicone exploded (though really, I don’t think you needed to call to tell me that. I think I’ll just know).
5) I have a baby stuck on me. You should get it off. It’s not yours.