This morning the issue was raised that my recent Facebook status about unasked-for cleavage viewing was confusing or vague or something. Not being someone who takes criticism without a fight I responded that it was my day for excessive boob-age. The same afternoon, while swimming with the Bumble Bean, a woman who was close to 80 got in the pool and at first I thought "good for her" then I looked down from the pool deck into the deeper end and there she was floating and there were her enormous bosooms floating free in front of her: each one larger than her head and covered with sun-spots and freckles so they looked like a pair of friendly octopi swimming along with her.
After firing off that reply, and utterly defeating both the Big Bad Bean and the String Bean, I commented that today is the 24th anniversary of my dad's death and I feel absolutely nothing about it. We (really I) went on to discuss that the previous day was a doozy in terms of bad things: a co-worker's partner going to a funeral for her aunt, the same co-worker finding a message from her brother's social worker that he was being evicted from public housing, just released from the hospital for an alcoholic withdrawal induced seizure and schizophrenia, the same co-worker with flash-backs to her sister's suicide coinciding with her own eviction, the insanity of my boss, the shallowness of several of my other co-workers, the potential horror of the annual conference we are hosting tomorrow, etc...
Then I left for work. That will teach them to say anything, ever, about my Facebook status.
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