From Butt to Booty Read Online Free PDF Page B

with a little oxygen, I get going again. “We’ve kissed. Once his tongue touched my spleen, but that’s it. Shouldn’t we date long enough to, I don’t know, meet each other’s families before the issue of dick size is even raised? Isn’t that something that should be talked about in marriage counseling before the divorce? I bring up how small it is, and how he can’t use it, and he makes cracks about size not mattering, but then when it gets down to it, he’s been ashamed of the small size all his life?”
    “You’ve been watching too much Lifetime Television.”
    “I have not.”
    “I guess it’s good to know now.” Obviously Adam is reaching.
    “How so?”
    “Well, if dating a horse is something you aspire to, then you need to look in a different stable. Saves time.” He’s chuckling. I can’t believe it. He’s finding humor in this.
    This is not funny. “This is not funny.”
    “Yes, it is.”
    “No, it’s not.” Okay, it’s a little funny. I swallow a chortle.
    “Yeah, it is. Very.” Adam giggles.
    I giggle. I hate growing up. I am not prepared for this crap.
    Adam says something and then repeats it. “Did you”—pause for gasp of air—“did you reassure him?”
    Tears stream down my face. I’m laughing so hard my stomach hurts. “I don’t remember. Isn’t that horrible? I don’t know what I said.” I am the worst girlfriend in the world.
    “Maybe he wanted you to convince him. You know, check it out and pronounce it worthy.”
    “That’s as likely as me having sex in a room full of people.”
    “He doesn’t know that. Maybe it’s a new line.”
    “Maybe he thinks dating means actually being honest about all that.”
    “That’s a possibility.”
    “I don’t want to know. I want to kiss and cuddle and have someone to go to dances with. It was nice having a guy on New Year’s.”
    “Hear you on that.”
    “But I don’t think he’s the one who’s going to eclipse my moon.”
    “Tell me you haven’t been reading Hallmark love cards again.”
    “Some are very poetic.”
    “Sick. You are ill. No one looks for romance in the romance section, honey.”
    “I like them.”
    “He’s not going to buy a card for you.”
    “You never know.” It’s my secret fantasy for a guy to hand me one of those huge smooshy-squishy, lovely-dovey Hallmark cards for no reason other than because he saw it and thought of me.
    “Not going to happen. Why don’t you bring the fantasies backdown to earth. Hope for an orgasm the first time you have sex. Something at least possible in the known universe.”
    “You’re not helping.”
    “Yes, I am. I’m being the voice of reason.”
    Change the subject. “Tim’s good?”
    “We’re good.”
    “Good.” I really want to ask about his proportions, but, well, that could be construed as invasive.
    “You okay?”
    “Yeah, I am. Maggie and Clarice are having a sleepover later.”
    “Good. Let’s have burgers on Saturday night?”
    “Yeah, it’s been a while. That’d be good.”
    “And Gert?”
    “Hmm?”
    “You’re not gay. Maybe you’re just not that into him?”
    That’s something to consider.

This is both a rant and a rave because frankly, I can’t decide how I feel about them. My boobs took the idea “reach for the stars” seriously. Lying on my back, I’ve got twin launchpads with shuttles. Any minute now, I’m going to hear the NASA voice counting down to liftoff.
    My bras aren’t fitting right. I’m kinda spilling over the top and out the sides. I haven’t gained weight, since my jeans still fit, but my boobs are getting ginormous. Slight exaggeration, perhaps, but who tells them to grow? And more important, who tells them to stop? Has a woman ever had boobs that didn’t stop growing? She’s probably stuck facedown somewhere, her throat hoarse from calling for help because all of a sudden her boobs went from having their own zip code to dry-docking her right where she stood.
    Seriously, where’s the reboot