This one's up for consideration for my next piece in the VoiceboxX - and - because Dan seems to enjoy entries that involve "boobies"...Bug – a – boob
I never seem to be able to go out in public without embarrassing myself profusely. I am constantly dropping things, dribbling things down the front of my shirt or getting something caught in my teeth that is not noticed until an hour or two after a socialization stint at the local Wal-mart. For example:
My husband and I were strolling through the Jefferson Outlet Mall in Ohio. We had just left the Polo store and were heading briskly towards Nike. All was well until a bug flew past my nose and made a beeline down my shirt, cuddling in the space between my bosoms.
“Aaagh!” I screamed and began swatting at my chest. I supposed I looked quite like Tarzan calling to Cheetah as I beat myself about the breast and hopped around in front of the twelve-foot glass windows of Polo.
“Honey?” Harry said. He looked at me questioningly, and a little frightened.
“Ack! Ack! Ack! Bug!” Was my intelligible response. I leaned over and began fluffing the front of my shirt, hoping that the big black bug would feel intimidated by fluttering cotton and vacate. Finally, I pulled my pink, v-neck Old Navy tee down and grabbed the bug from between my breasts. Flinging it towards the windows, it landed with a thud and then slowly traveled down the front, leaving a sticky gooey mess in its wake. Straightening up I quickly examined my cleavage for remnants of bug: goo, a leg, or even an antennae. After I had thoroughly groped myself I turned back to my pink-faced husband.
“What?” I said.
“Nothing.” He said.
“No, really, what?”
“Absolutely nothing.” He stifled a laugh. “These things could only happen to you, honey, only to you!”
“Oh really?! Well, I beg to differ, I am sure plenty of others have been viciously attacked by crazy-ass bugs while shopping! TONS!” I threw my hands in the air for emphasis.
“Oh.” He said. “Well, let’s ask your audience…” He pointed towards the bug-encrusted window where a half a dozen onlookers stood, mouths agape. Some were even pointing and whispering. One older man stared blatantly at my chest.
“Crap.” I said and grabbed Harry by the arm to drag him to the Nike store. While pouting in the size thirteen Air Jordan section I realized that a rather attractive blonde woman was looking at me oddly. I ignored her. This was getting ridiculous! I had a bug! A bug attacked me! I WAS THE VICTIM!
“Okay lady! FINE! I flashed people! I DID! And the next show will be at four! Line up early to see my tits! I had a BUG! A BUG! IN MY SHIRT! GEEZ!!!” I yelled at her. There, I thought to myself, showed her!
“I, uh, I , um, well, I’m sorry, I was just wondering whereyou found your Nike Shox – my daughter wanted a pair. Um, uh, never mind. Sorry.” She sputtered at me and then went sprinting for the closest exit.
I fell back against the mirror and crossed my arms over my infamous chest to continue pouting and staring at the floor. A pair of size thirteen Jordans walked into my view.
“Don’t say it.” I warned to the shoes.
“Only you,” they said, “only you!” Harry sat down beside me and hugged me as two young boys wearing Polo shirts passed by, giggling and pointing at me.