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“Nah, you don’t look like a lesbian.”

Issue Date: Wednesday, Jun. 30, 2004

This morning as I trotted into work wearing baggy and wrinkled britches (that I pulled out of a moving box) I noticed something poking me in the boob.


Was I harboring an iguana in my blouse? Nay.

Was I sporting an array of bondage wear with spikes? Not me.

I got to my desk and looked down the front of my shirt. This gray metal piece with a white tip was jutting out of my bra from the right (domineering) boob.

I had a flat.

No, you doof, not a flat boob. A busted underwire in my bra. My expensive bra.


I couldn’t just push the wire back in and hope or pray for the best. I did that for the first hour of the day. I would move and I would hear, “creeee-eee-eak”. Lord, my boob sounded pissed.

And haunted.

Not only would I sound like my boob was haunted but I would get this lovely spear in the sternum from the underwire that was trying to make a break for freedom.

So I pulled the wire out and then preformed some minor surgery on the other side of the bra to liberate that wire too. When I was done with my underwear engineering, I looked down to find the most attractive thing in all of womanhood.

A Uniboob.

I asked my co-worker if something looked off. She said no, and then reminded me that she would have already made fun of me if there were something amiss. Love that about her.

She asked me what was up, I told her about the underwire liberation and she proclaimed, “Nah, you don’t look like a lesbian.”

That’s probably the nicest thing I’ll hear all day.


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To understand this dear reward (above) at all, you must hie thee on and read gatsby’s grape ape entry and my comments.

And because of said comments he sent me my very own dream turtle in an email titled wee gift with these words attached, “my purple monkey is booked solid so i ordered you a tangerine turtle. hope he proves helpful.”

The Graphic Below Courtesy of Papernapkin.

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