Sometimes when you find yourself head over feet in a new relationship and your insecurities are raging and you just can’t pull the I-am-so-fucking-awesome-card by yourself – you need a helping hand. My hand is Paul.
Paul is the reason I am still floating face up. This is how we do:
“I used to have bigger boobs. The second he kissed me I swear to God they went down a size.” I confess. “Don’t look at me like I am crazy. They used to be bigger! I swear!”
“Well at least you have deliciously kissable nipples.”
“Yeah, you totally have awesome nipples.”
“Huh…I never thought about my nipples. Who thinks about their nipples? Do men think about nipples or is it just the overall breast size? It’s not like I sit around thinking about ball size – it’s kind of last on my list, not that I have a list, but if I did, a guy’s ball sack and its size wouldn’t be on it. I am a “brain” person. Do you think there are “ball sack” people – like a foot fetish sort of thing?”
“I shave my balls. Who wants to put a hairy ball in their mouth?”
I guess some people might be uncomfortable with this sort of conversation, but this is actually a step up for us. Normally we have this type of talk at work. I’ve learned all sorts of things about penises from Paul, usually while standing behind a steaming chaffing dish, spatula in hand and a long line of Bar Mitzvah guests with empty plates waiting across the buffet from us.
Those are the boys I work with…cater waitering at its finest (just in case you were wondering what the guy that served you a pig in a blanket was really like).
…anyway back to the crisis at hand and the case of the incredible shrinking boobs.
“Every time he touches them they shrink in size, soon they are going to be concave!” I say.
“You should suck them.” Paul says.
“Suck my own nipples?”
“Have you been hitting google again?” I ask.
Paul’s mind is a weird storage unit of odd facts, mostly sexual in nature, involving the human body and animals – bees in particular.
“What? Did you google how to increase my girlfriend’s breast size? I ask.
“Why would you do that?” knowing Paul is strictly dickly.
“I don’t think I could even reach my nipple if I wanted to and that just seems, I don’t know – all sorts of weird – I mean I like him and stuff but-”
Paul shoots me a look like he doesn’t buy what I am selling.
“Okay, I am crazy about him-”
Paul continues with the lie detector stare.
“I don’t think sucking my own nipple is something that I want to take on.” I say firmly, hoping this puts an end to it and by “it” I mean to me admitting out loud how far I have fallen for the new guy.
“Then just embrace the beauty that is your nipple and stop being such a size queen.” he says.
So when you are struggling to love the whole breast – call your friend – the one that will remind you of the awesomeness that is your nipple, the one that holds up a mirror to you and lets you know just how incredible you are.
I love you Paul. The real love. Like some Golden Girls type of shit.