Wednesday, November 22, 2006
My Sister's Boobs
Thanksgiving at Mel's house: a wrestling match, a jumping down the stairs contest, multiple jokes about violently slapping someone in the face. Nobody mentions Aunt Lisa's new boobs. It is gauche. But we do mention her new Rolling Stones neck tattoo.
The Thanksgiving that Mel endured at my grandparents' house: I am forced to wear a paper Pilgrim hat and read a prayer about beans. Little Jacob is reprimanded for wanting dessert when he has not finished his dinner. He wanders away drunkly, having been dosed up with Benadryl since the family was keeping a stray cat, to which he is allergic, all day. Damn those sick children asking for food!
The Thanksgiving that Mel endured at my grandparents' house: I am forced to wear a paper Pilgrim hat and read a prayer about beans. Little Jacob is reprimanded for wanting dessert when he has not finished his dinner. He wanders away drunkly, having been dosed up with Benadryl since the family was keeping a stray cat, to which he is allergic, all day. Damn those sick children asking for food!
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Lisa is lucky. If she was at my house, everyone would be giving thanks for her new boobs and brushing up against them while reaching for the potatoes. At least that is what happened to me when my normally C-cupped boobs skyrocketed into a pregnancy-induced DD just in time for the holidays last year.
Zero class.
Zero boundaries.
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Zero class.
Zero boundaries.
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