Those of you who have been perusing my Facebook profile of late may have noticed the scads of boob jokes that have been taking over my page in the past few days. I mean, more than usual. Here is why. The letter B is heavily, inextricably involved.
It all started with blackberries. Not the cellular device, but these:
Attractive photo of my hand brought to you by Greg.
Over the summer, Greg and Wills drove up from the Utah to visit. While they were in town, we spent an afternoon picking blackberries and making jars and jars of delicious jam that I am still working my way through.
While we picked berries and got attacked by stinging nettles, we talked about everything. This was not long after I had discovered that I had been wearing the wrong bra size my entire life. Greg and Wills are those rare, awesome kind of guys that they don't get weirded out by anything I say, so I told them the story and how much better my back felt/hotter I looked when I wore a bra that fit me properly. I even showed them the photographic evidence (clothed). I also complained about how expensive odd-sized bras are, and how I probably won't be able to afford to re-stock my lingerie drawer for a while.
Fast forward to last Saturday. My birthday. I received a package from Provo, and what do you think was inside??
TWO gorgeous, perfectly-fitting bras!! My Provo family (Wills, Greg, Justin, Chandler, Colin, Lance, Austin, Sarah, Colleen, Vilja, Ashley, and Brooke) all chipped in and sent me not only two amazingly comfortable undergarments but also cards chock full of dirty jokes! Clearly, these people know what I like. It made me a little sad to think of them getting together and telling dirty jokes without me, but at the same time, it's definitely the best way to celebrate my life. I hope they tell lots of dirty jokes at my funeral.
The cards, plus the one I got from Judith.
Here is my favorite one reproduced for your pleasure:
Words cannot express the tender feelings in my breast. You've been such a supportive friend for so many years that this is hardly tit-for-tat. Still, these large tokens of my esteem take a load of debt off my chest. I mean it's not like I've been racked with guilt about it, but you've poured out jugs of friendly service, and this is really the best I can do, my bosom friend. I miss you loads. I thought of you while eating melons from our garden. Hope Seattle is treating you well. Hang in there.
In fact, all the people I like are way better than the people you like. This is proof.
Also fact: my shirts are fitting better than ever. I like to think they are being held up by love.