random sometimes funny thoughts

Most people who know me, also know I like to talk….a lot.  But they also know I can have a rather unique way of looking at things.  Usually, those things are people, or maybe I should  classify them as “people-things”.  I know this may sound kind of snotty and not very nice, but there are times when I just can’t seem to help myself.  And just so you don’t go off thinking I’m the snobby type who only looks at others’ short-comings, I poke a lot of fun at myself, too.  When I wake up in the morning, I avoid all eye contact with the bathroom mirror.  It’s not pretty, and it doesn’t get much better as the day goes on.  This year for my birthday, I realized I had become one of those people-things, too.

A couple of months ago, a close personal friend of mine showed up after work with more bounce in her step than she had when she took her kid to play on one of those Moon Walk carnival rides.  As things would have it, she had met a new man, and according to her, he was one hot package.  I managed to keep my own excitement in check because, after years of friendship, I was extremely aware of our differences in taste when it came to what makes our hearts go pitty-patter.  She described him as a big man, about 6 ft 5″ and weighing in at about 225.  So far, so good.  I’ve dated lots of guys shorter than 6 ft and of slighter builds, but I definitely prefer over 6 ft with at least a medium amount of meat on his bones.  She described his voice as resembling the deep mellow tone of Randy Travis, smooth and flowing; enough to give you goose bumps just listening to it.  To top it off, he smelled so good she wanted to stick her nose in his neck and just inhale for the rest of the day.  I wasn’t sure about the smell thing because she liked those woodsy outdoors he-man kinds of colognes while I much prefer to get a whiff of Paul Sebastian.   He was bald, by choice, as he shaved his hair off.  Hmmm… well, I’d much rather have a man with a full head of hair since I like to play with it when I’m trying to go to sleep.  But, hey, it was her dream package we were discussing, not mine.

Like I said, she was excited.  She had it bad.  She was the store manager of a convenience store, and he had been coming in every day, stopping to spend a few minutes to chat with her.  After a week or so, she had finally come to the conclusion that he was flirting with her.  What should she do?  How could she go about letting him know she was interested without putting him on the spot.  As it turned out, he was a self-employed contractor, specializing in home improvements.  There it was.  She had been talking about getting her kitchen floor redone in ceramic tile.  What better way to get him into her house and be alone with him?

I was visiting her house when the phone rang.  She had taken the dog out for a walk so I answered her phone.  I knew as soon as I heard the voice, it had to be Dream Dude.  His voice was everything she had described it to be.  He was calling to make sure it was ok for him to come over to scope out the work she wanted him to do.  I didn’t bother to ask her if it was ok.  I wanted to get a look at this guy.  I just had to see him before I went back home.  There was no way I was letting this chance get away.  She, of course, wanted to kill me when I informed her upon her return from walking the dog.  She was still in her work clothes and looking a bit frazzled after a long day.  I don’t think I ever saw a woman her age move so fast to get showered and changed.

This giant hulk of a man stepped quietly inside at her invitation.  I had expected him to be dressed in paint stained coveralls, with a wad of chew tucked in the corner of his mouth, but was met with a man dressed rather stylishly.

“Well, well,” I thought,  “He’s not dressed to be down on the floor measuring and marking, so it was just an excuse to see my friend.”   He was dressed in a navy blue sport jacket over a gray turtle neck, and black jeans.  “Casual, but classy,” I mused approvingly.

My friend has a bad habit of keeping her house at all the wrong temperatures.  It’s always too cold in the summer and way too hot in the winter.  At the time, the October chill had really settled in and as usual, she had the heat cranked up.  Recognizing that he would be too hot if he remained in his jacket, she offered to take it for him.  As he moved to take the jacket off, she motioned to me sitting on the sofa and proceeded to make introductions.  He handed her his jacket, turning toward me with a smile.  I froze.

The polite thing to do would have been for me to get up and shake his hand in welcome.  I couldn’t move.  I couldn’t take my eyes off of his chest.  It was so rude, and yet, there I was, staring like I had brain damage at the two huge bumps protruding from his chest.  His boobs were bigger than mine, which isn’t really saying much, but a C cup looks much better on a woman than a man.

He came toward me, hand outstretched, and still I couldn’t take my eyes off his chest.  I managed to stand up, kind of like being in a trance.  I struggled to find the appropriate words but all I could think of was, “Got milk?

I must have muttered something he took for a bonafide, hello, because he shook my hand and then turned to my friend to discuss the job she wanted him to do.  I remained as much out of the conversation and out of sight as I could without causing suspicion, eventually finding an excuse to get the hell out of there.  I’m not someone whose imagination gets the best of her.  Usually, I can just put an unpleasant situation out of my mind and go on with my day.  But this wasn’t going to be the case.  No matter what I did, I just couldn’t get the image of him standing there in that tight gray sweater, showing off his man boobs.  Driving home I passed a billboard advertising for a local dairy.  Immediately the image was back.  When I got home, I threw some laundry in the washer and caught myself wondering if he would be able to fit those melons into one of the bras I was laundering.  I was finally crawling into bed when it hit me.  OMG!  How would she ever be able to have sex with him if their relationship went that far?  And then no matter how much I tried to put it out of my head, it just wouldn’t go.  I kept getting images of her being slapped in the face with those things, blackened eyes and split lips.

After months of seriously working hard to remove any memories of my ordeal, I came across an article on the web.  It claimed that man boobs, or “moobs” as they are now being called, is a somewhat common problem caused by a medical condition which also causes small testicles.  I’m freaking out!  Why did I read that?  How do I get rid of these awful images that keep popping into my head?  I’ll never be able to eat another meatball sandwich as long as I live.


Comments on: "Man-Boobs and Other Icky Things" (2)

  1. Now whenever you hear Rush Limbaugh on the radio, you’ll just think of him all oiled up and lying on a beach!

    • Oh, yuck……….just when I thought I had gotten the pictures out of my head…….I’ll never be able to listen to the radio again. Thank you very much!

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