Really Mad at My Boobs

Let me just say this now…about half of you are NOT going to want to read this.  That would be the half of you who happen to have a penis.  Reason being?  This blog is totally all about my boobs.

 

Yes, I hear you all collectively saying to yourselves “But we’re GUYS.  We LIKE boobs.  We are their biggest fans”.  To that I say…this is REALLY not one of those entries.  I have PMS….you really don’t want to read this.  Consider yourself warned.

 

Supposedly there are women out there who get PMS for all of two freaking seconds and the only way they can tell is because they feel a little tired?  Who the hell are these mythical beings and what bargain did they strike with Satan to get this deal?

 

Oh yeah…and can you please provide me with Satan’s contact information because I totally want in on this.

 

Wanna know how I know when I have PMS?  Oddly enough, the scary breaky-outy skin, massive backache, tendency to throw staplers at people, the fact that I’m retaining enough water to actually be declared my own island and the odd hysterical bursts of crying at random television commercials isn’t the clue.  The clue?  My boobs are huge.  By huge I mean E-FREAKING-NORMOUS.

 

Here’s the thing.  I’m not a big fan of the boobs to start with.  Sure…they make my t-shirts look pretty and occasionally their very presence is enough for strange guys in bars to buy me drinks, but they are annoying.  They get in the way, they make running a dangerous activity and really….all upper body machines at the gym were invented by men.  Men without boobs.

 

Yet once a month my boobs get some kind of inferiority complex and decide to go all psychotic and grow like crazy.   I don’t mean they get slightly swollen….I mean I have people asking me for the name of my plastic surgeon because “your boobs weren’t that size yesterday”.   I’m actually afraid they might attack someone once they discover their Godzilla like growth spurt and ability to think independently from the rest of my body.

 

To add insult to injury…they hurt like hell, too.

 

Okay…done bitching about my boobs.  Off to take Midol and search out chocolate.  Oh yeah…and to change the dress code at work from Business Casual to I’m totally wearing sweatpants and an Ohio State t-shirt that has stains on it to the staff meeting.

 

And I really think consuming wine while at work should be acceptable today.  Cause…ya know…its medicinal and all.

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