Oh sure, I would like to say that it was just my witty personality that made me so popular in high school, but I realize it was most likely my perfectly sculptured, very large tits.
Back then, I had the whole package and it worked.

Long hair, tanned skin, toned sports body and a pair of DD sized tits. The high school boys were suckers for them but I had visions of girls swinging from them. Alas, I lived in Alabama and the vision of being drug behind a truck for being gay outweighed the one of my prom date wearing the dress instead of me.

Yes, I was witty, but there was no mistaking that I also had a big ass rack!

It’s amazing to me these things, also referred to as ‘fun bags,’ ‘dairy pillows,’ and ‘yummy yams,’ can become a part of one’s identity. There’s something so superficial, egotistical and vein about our society’s obsession with ‘rib bumpers.’

I had no idea as a self-professed dykie, woman-loving packer that I was so wrapped up in my breasts. For the most part I thought that I hated them… that they were always in the way when it came time to shop for shirts, bathing suits and bras. It’s hard to squeeze DD’s into a Kenneth Cole shirt meant for fat, perfectly sculptured fag chests.

So, when it came time to say goodbye to my ‘whim whams,’ I wanted to be sure that they felt honored on their last night on earth.

I weighed all of the celebratory options and, being a classy redneck, I decided to go to Hooters! It only seemed fitting to take “the girls” to the one place in Nashville that celebrated the “wopbobaloobops.”

My party was comprised of a varied group: gay guys, who were really only their to have a martini and judge the waitresses’ tacky orange spandex shorts; members of the “Little Bitty Titty Committee,” who were trying to be supportive but didn’t really understand the issue or the surgery; and my wife, who was most likely thinking about the first date I ever took her on, which happened to be at Hooters, too.

The next day, I had the surgery along with some great pain pills, lots of sympathy, gifts and size C cup breasts. Not only do they feel awesome, they apparently look awesome because not since high school have so many people been interested.

I don’t really understand it except to say that nobody wants to see a tomboy like me with big ole’ titties. But now, gay gays are standing in line to cop a feel and they’re not alone. Lesbians want to get a handful as they ask questions about getting their own surgery and other ladies are raising their hands for a platonic handful, just because.

Since they downsize is relatively new, I expect all the excitement will fad eventually. If people are still tryin’ to get a handful in six months, I’m not really sure what I’ll tell my wife.

But for now, I ain’t complaining. In fact, I encourage you to have a squeeze next time you see me. Me and the girls feel great! And the next time you find yourself at Hooters, think of us.

Live and Love Equally!

Tonight while we were at the grocery he as usual abandoned the shopping process for the magazine rack. He is still trying to come to terms with Michael Jacksons death so I told him he could choose between the two tribute magazines to Michael Jackson to purchase. It was time to check out and to my surprise he throws on the conveyer belt a $7 wrestling magzine and some womens health magazine with a lady in a bikini on the front. What?!! When did this happen?

Now, let me make something perfectly clear for the hate advocates who say that gays tend to raise gays. Each month the magazine subscriptions that come to our home are The Advocate,Curve Magazine, Rolling Stone, Esquire, Today’s Gardener and some cooking magazine that my wife gets. So I think it is fair to say that we offer a wide variety of media opportunity for him to express his true self. And well…I think wrestling and girls in bikins speak for themselves.

Ya’ll I had no idea just how brand conscious of a person I am. I didn’t care when she switched from Tide to something called “Clean Clothes”.  And I can drink any diet soda, so giving up Diet Coke was not that hard of a compromise. The dogs and cats don’t earn us any money so they don’t get to complain that their food now comes in white bags and is appropriately labeled in black lettering, “Pet Food”.  Nope, I’m a giver and all I ever want is for her to be happy so I just played along happily.

Happily that is, until she brought home some coffee that tasted like it was grown and ground in some drug house basement under grow lights next to the weed. Oh sure, it was in a blue bag just like my Maxwell House.  It even had on the packaging a coffee cup tilted to the side with a delicious, signature drop, spilling out. But, it was no damn where near Maxwell House. I mean it could have been called, “Maxwell’s Mamas’ house” where a drug dealer named Maxwell still stays at his mama’s house and grows pot and bad coffee beans, but it was not my Maxwell House.  That grow light blend had to get the hell out of my kitchen.  It wasn’t even something I could save for emergency stock.

We’re still playing Thegrocerygame.com, we’re drinking things simply labeled “Tea” and “Fruity Aid” but we start our mornings with some lovin’ and Maxwell House…both good to the last drop!!

Women are crazy! That is the advantage that women who love women have…they know that women are crazy.  I think men underestimate the intuition of women and the craziness that can be spawned at the drop of a hat. Not that lesbians don’t cheat on their wives but they aren’t usually dumb enough to enter into a relationship with a girlfriend and then have enough left to look at a third. I think that lesbian relatinships are way to emotionally fueld to be in a reltaionship with three at one time. That alone would kill ya…no bullets needed!