...to bring you this important bulletin. I can no longer order delivery from my favorite pizza/sandwich place. Why, you ask? Because, um, well, you see, I sort of flashed the delivery boy. Only half, okay three-quarters of a breast when the corner of the pizza box snagged my shirt but he almost tumbled backwards down the steps.
I suppose it could have been worse. He could have fallen and bashed his head on the cement, needing me to call 911 for assistance and then had to explain what happened. It could have been both boobs. There could have been a parking lot full of people across the street to see me. My neighbors could have stayed outside a few seconds longer to witness my display.
What did I do? I waited until he seemed semi-steady on his feet, asked innocently if he was alright and then closed the door on his gaping expression. Really, what else could I do? I'm going to miss eating from there.
We now resume your regular editing...
I suppose it could have been worse. He could have fallen and bashed his head on the cement, needing me to call 911 for assistance and then had to explain what happened. It could have been both boobs. There could have been a parking lot full of people across the street to see me. My neighbors could have stayed outside a few seconds longer to witness my display.
What did I do? I waited until he seemed semi-steady on his feet, asked innocently if he was alright and then closed the door on his gaping expression. Really, what else could I do? I'm going to miss eating from there.
We now resume your regular editing...
