Now, if you know me, you know that I have big boobs. I do not hide them, as they are my best asset, so chances are at one point or another they have caused you what I like to call the Solar Eclipse Impact (ultimately no matter how hard you try, you can't help but stare). Do not fear. Yes, I know you are staring, and no, I wouldn't have them on dispaly if I minded...just try and be a little subtle is all I ask.
The problem with my boobs (I refer to them as 5 & 6 - they are heavy bust cards...get it?) is that:
1) they are crumb collectors much like a DustBuster. I swear every night I take off my bra and things fall out of there like abusted pinata. No joke - I have had moments when something fell out on to the floor and I'm like "I didn't eat French Fries today. How'd that get in there?"
2) they get in the way. Carrying large items can be quite difficult and painful
3) they act independently of the rest of my body. I have no gauge as to how far out they are. It changes. I misjudge and slam into walls and clip corners. You know that joke "What do Dolly Parton's shoes look like? She doesn't know either."
Yes, I know, cry you a freaking river. Hold back the hostility, I am not complaining. I like my boobs. I just had to get some prologue out there first so I could share with you, yet another glimpse into my pathetic life.
So for about 5 years nows I have been dealing craps & blackjack for corporate and private parties. I do it on the weekends a couple of nights a month. It's a fun way to make a little extra cash (which ultimately financed my trip to Europe this past Spring) and it beats the heck out of working retail. The only sucky thing about it is that I have to wear an unflattering "uniform" of black slacks, a tuxedo shirt and bow-tie. Not that it looks awful, I actually think it is nice, but when you have big boobs and you are wearing essentially man clothes, you look kinda box-y.
I work mainly for 2 party planning companies, but every now and again I get an email or call from someone who owns a company that heard about me and they are in need of a craps dealer in a pinch. Craps dealers are hard to find. Good craps dealers are even harder to find, and I am a good craps dealer.
One such occasion happened a couple of years ago, when I got a call to deal craps at a schmancy Tennis & Boat Club in Torrance. It paid $100 for like 3 hours worth of work. Sounded good to me so I jumped in to my uniform and headed over to the South Bay.
I have been to a ton of parties in 5 years. In that time I would say I have had less than a half dozen bad gigs. People for the most part are always in a good mood when you are teaching them how to win copious amounts of fake money to exchange for crappy raffle tickets. I have dealt at practically every hotel in the Greater LA & OC areas. I've dealt at the Playboy Mansion (twice) and dozens of absolutely exquisite homes. I know good parties from bad. This party was really nice. The guests were polite and fun. The host was kind. And the set-up was really sweet.
The party was thrown by a very nice gentleman for his wife's 40th birthday. Just as the party was starting he came by and told the dealers to help themselves to food. It was a very kind offer but very hard to take him up on his generosity with guests around. About half way through the party, the husband stopped all of the gambling and called everyone outside for the big gift unveiling (it was a yacht). It was at this point that all of the dealers and servers were able to partake of some snackage. I had already eaten dinner, but I was more than happy to head over to the chocolate fountain and have a few tasty bites.
The party-goers came back inside about 10 minutes later and the gaming resumed. The guests continued being friendly and I even noticed that they were being exceedingly generous with tipping, which is a rarity (people are less inclined to tip you with real money when they are playing with fake chips). The rest of the evening flew by. I walked away with an absurd amount of tips, a check for $100, and belly satiated with chocolate dipped strawberries. I drove home smiling, muttering to myself "why can't all gigs be that awesome?"
I made it home all "aglow" with my bounty for the evening. I walked to the mirror to take my bowtie off...and that was when I noticed a HUGE chocolate streak across both of my boobs. Somehow I had managed to lean a bit too far whilst dipping and actually boob-bumped the chocolate fountain. I couldn't see it because of the aforementioned bowtie. I dealt for well over an hour with chocolate boobs and not one of the party guests felt the need to tell me. They instead pity-tipped me.
I spent the rest of that evening and the next day experiencing deep & profound retroactive shame. The bummer of the whole thing is that I had Shout Wipes in my purse that night. If someone had actually told me, I could have remedied the situation and would have been fine. Now I am just reminded of my shame EVERYTIME I see a chocolate fountain...not that it ever stops me from eating from one. It takes a helluva lot more shame than that to ruin me on chocolate fountain for an eternity.
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| Jealous of my penguin suit? |
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