WallyWorld. I hate/love WallyWorld. It’s kinda like Alice’s Restaurant in that yes, you can get anything you want… but it’s a monopoly… biggest buying power, cheapest stuff.. And in the days of $4+ gas, another GD “have to.”
So, I “get to” go to WallyWorld. It’s always a pleasure to find an open parking spot in the same County the store is in. Yes, I’ve waited for an entire herd to pile into their van, have mom snap each and everyonea the snotnoses in - finally backup, and save myself thirty to forty walking paces.
Today’s mission “dad, will you get me a Powerade, and oh, the vacuum cleaner belt broke again.” While I tire of Mayard’s honeydo’s, the vacuum cleaner belt is a blessing - because for whatever reason, he’s OCD about the vacuum cleaner. Suit’s the hell outta me.
Powerade… Sixty cents.. WOW, this place really is cheaper than the Piggly Wiggly. I was mid-way in the store, on the far South end… Bissell belts were mid-way in the store, more kinda on the Northern end.
So I starts walking. “Tween, the kids clothes section. And then, the women’s clothing.
AND THERE IT WAS.
Right there on an end starin’ out at God and everyone, THE LARGEST bra I’d ever seen. Zebra striped even. “GOOD GOD” I thought to myself, “WHOINTHEHELL is THAT big?” I mean that thing coulda passed for a fancified two-bowling ball bag. There was enough material there I coulda worn it as pants and nobody woulda missed a beat.
So I giggled my way from the behemoth BRA, to the Bissell belts… Wondering still, whointhehell would wear that. Then I seen one. “Damn, SHE could!”… and another “MY GOODNESS SAKES!”…. The ONLY way they could EVER see their belly button is in the mirror! Guess, thinking positively, they stops crumbs from getting allover one’s pants.
Bissell belt in hand (7-9-10, yep, just like the torn one in my pocket) - I decided to take (don’t hate me) a real quick (7 minute) “Boob study” walk around the store. Snowflakes I discovered. There ain’t no pair alike. Some way up there, some way down there. Golfball size, lemon, softball, and the one’s that need trained in like you’re riding the Mamba, the behemoth zebra striped ones.
If you’ve passed by a time or two, you’ll know I’m more of a derriere kinda guy. However, with a twist to Will Rogers, I never met a pair I didn’t like. Always had an affinity for them little bitty ones (Victor, you’re really blogging this to the world? Eh why not, boobs rock!) then I dated me onea them underwire gals. Likes them too. Honest I ain’t been prolific, but must admit, seen me some different ones in the days…
Much like the “tip of the finger length” skirts in that blog right down there - today’s fashion finds a much larger portion of the boobies being exposed. A fad that’s all it’s cracked up to be.
Buddy’o mine. Don’t tell. He was for years a teach/school administrator. He’s human. After a few Corona’s, he’s always blurtin’ “show us your tits.” Hehe. A boob man. And another buddy, he goes nutso when he sees onea them that could adorn that there zebra striped bra.
Projectiles, and their power on men. So in closing, I ain’t got no great words of wisdom to sum up my 7-minute walking boob study, and a lifelong eyeballed mission of me in those lucky moments. Other than, diversity rocks. Big, small, round, perky, saggy, behemoth, lefty a tad bigger than righty, and vice versa. Them “things” there in the very middle.. Dime size to pancake size. (E-gads Victor, ENOUGH).. Hehe.
God Bless the breast. Ya gotta love ‘em. Even if you’re a derriere man. Bye bye, going to watch Maynard vacuum now. Kinda helps make up for all them moments in line at McDonalds, or at the laundry mat pouring quarters in the machines. Have the breast day ever! Love, Victurd.
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