It was a pub crawl and I was nineteen. It was the very first stop: the university bar. While that might sound good to you, my university – while offering a wonderful education – is largely considered the ugly, flat stepsister of all the cool post-secondaries in the city.
No offense to all the ugly, flat stepsisters out there.
I was surrounded by great friends – some that I went to high school with, some that I met in university who would become roommates and one who had the best damn rack I’ve seen.
They were perfect. Round. High. Bouncy. Proportional. And right in front of me.
The mood was perfect for a first stop. Easy-going, light-hearted but still quiet as everyone slowly started gearing up for the long night ahead. Which means that everyone….EVERYONE….saw what I did next.
I downed my Vodka Cran. Pushed past a friend’s new man who would become her fiancé five years later. Walked right up to this magnificent work of genetic art. And grabbed them. Both. In my hands. Gently but with purpose. And yelled:
“WHY DON’T I LIKE THESE??!”
But the truth was, no matter what, I DID like them. A lot. And I still do.
So donate what you can and remember – it’s for the boob.
