The day has been totally unremarkable, excepting the mauling of my breasts by The Devil's Handmaiden. Granted, she was wearing those see-through plastic gloves, but the experience rubbed Mrs. Hillbilly Mom the wrong way.
Oh. I don't mean my actual breasts. That would be just downright creepy. As creepy as the time that woman followed me through Save-A-Lot on New Year's Day, where I had gone to purchase some black-eyed peas to serve up for good luck throughout the year (the luck part, not the black-eyed peas, which were to be served for one meal only), and stroked my arm while telling me I was SO PRETTY. But I digress.
Perhaps I have deliberately misled you in order to snag your interest in my blog post. Guilty as charged! OH SO SORRY. But now that I have your attention, I will proceed with my unsettling shopping-trip tale.
The Pony and I had already made our rounds of The Devil's Playground, and were in our fourth and final corner, the deli. I asked for some chicken tenders, which are breaded and fried hunks of chicken breast. (I felt it necessary to explain that bit, in case some of you are those health-food freaks who avoid fried foods like the plague, or those animal-loving PETA-heads who call fish sea kittens).
The Devil's Handmaiden reached into the metal bin behind the glass counter, and began squeezing my breasts. She really went at it, that little gal. No sooner would she caress and discard one breast than she would latch onto the next. It went on for several minutes. She must have noticed my horrified expression, because she felt the need to explain, "They're not very big." OUCH! She further added, "I'm trying to make sure they're not hard." Thanks for the exam, honey, but I go to my gyno for that. He's way more entertaining than you, and if I can get him to keep his hands off my thyroid for five minutes, he performs a fair annual exam. Now that my thyroid is all but absent, I think he will be able to concentrate more on the matter at hand.
Perhaps this falls under the category of Too Much Information.