I’m here in Del Mar. One of my dearest friends, Suz, met us here. We went to college together. Actually, we’re sisters. Sorority sisters. Yeah, I’m proud. Whatever.

Within the first 30 minutes after we arrive in the San Diego airport she gave me the best ab workout ever. And all she had to do was tell me a story.

Her story came after she heard about me standing up on the airplane. That alone isn’t so exciting. However when my strapless sundress didn’t stand up with me, it became an exciting event. And by exciting, I mean mortifying. Yep, my dress slid down on my body as I got up to use the lavatory. Oh joy. I was embarrassed and didn’t bother looking up at anyone for fear that they were laughing, scowling or turned on.

Really, if I”m going to pull down my dress and give a peep show, I want it to be on my terms. Not on a wardrobe failure.

My humiliation reminded Suz of a story.

She was in Santa Barbara at a fancy hotel. She raced down to the pool wearing a sundress and a string bikini. That’s how she rolls. And not rolls as in fat. The girl is tiny.

I should explain her tiny frame. She’s thin. And completely flat chested. It looks good on her though. I’m guilt free from talking about her tiny boobs because I offered her my spare set and she refused.

Back to the pool. It was a hotel pool and there we other people there. Specifically two guys near Suz any many other people scattered around.

Suz is next to her lounge chair and pulls her sundress over her head. And you probably guessed it. Her string bikini top came loose and fell to her waist. Suz isn’t very modest. That didn’t bother her so much.

What did bother her? The two guys who were watching her. Why? Because of their response. They glanced up, saw the show and went back to whatever they were doing before. Without a smile, rise in their pants, or laugh. Suz concluded that they were either gay or thought she was a little boy.

Moral here: When we take off our top, we want a response. Positive always feels better. But something. Anything. Except for maybe a dollar bill. Or worse, a quarter.

I love gifts. Any kind. Any reason. Any occasion. So when I got to work one morning and discovered a cute little gift bag on my desk, I was so excited. It was a surprise. It was not the day I blessed my parents with my presence in the world, it wasn’t the day baby Jesus was born, it wasn’t the day my divorce was final. It was just an ordinary day.

 I eagerly opened the bag and tore off the tissue paper. This is what I discovered…

Turns out someone I work with brought me a gift all the way from Hawaii. This person knew of my coconut obsession which would explain the gift. However I wonder if they were aware of my other obsession…boobs. Well not any boobs. Just mine.

Would it be rude to ask for bigger coconuts and a grass skirt? The sexy coconut device is better suited for a B/C cup plus I’ll need a grass skirt to make the outfit complete. Or better yet, I won’t risk being rude and I’ll use them as two giant pina colada cups. Umbrella straws anyone?

Some people tape ripped paper. Others tape TV shows. Some even get tape worms.

My doctor tapes boobs.

I’ve been walking around for two weeks feeling like a paper-mâché art project.  The tape is holding my newly molded boobs so they are guaranteed to stay perky and in place while I heal.  The tape is wrapped over each boob leaving the nipples bare. It also goes up to my neck.  Try getting dressed with that restriction. Oh yeah, and it’s thick off-white tape. Black would have been so much better.

Showering is an entertaining activity. I was told to wrap myself in plastic wrap to keep the tape dry. Have you ever tried that? It’s hard enough covering a casserole dish, let alone my mid section.

A ton of money was spent on these boobs.  And I haven’t been able to see them yet. That’s like buying a new car and not driving it for two weeks. That doesn’t work for me. I’m impatient like that. The tape comes off on Wednesday.  I can’t wait to see/touch/dress my new body parts.

Taped Boob