Soapbox Diner
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Not to be tried at home |
08.08.07 |
So I've been repairing walls and painting this week. Mr. T knocked a big ole 2x3 foot hole in the living room wall when he was here so he could mount 'his' plasma TV on the wall, and now it's my extreme pleasure to repair it (with no tools, mind you). So Monday night I knocked down the sheetrock, and last night Steven's Big Brother came out with a skil saw and various other man tools to help me cut the new press board sheet down to size. There was more sheet rock clean-up to be had, so I joyfully hopped on that one. Then we ate steak and put the new piece in, but it's about 1/8 inch skinnier than the rest of the wall. Bummer. Plan effing B, dude.
Anyways, moral of the story is, while I was checking email at the end of my day, I noticed that my right boob was pokey and itchy. Being that I was all alone in my very own home, I did a quick peak into my shirt in the boobal region and noted with much horror that I had accummulated SHARDS, yes, shards of sheetrock on my boobie inside my bra. So then I had to lift my shirt and bra up and let my girl flop out so I could brush the offending particles from my person.
Then I sat back and realized, I'm sitting at a computer with my boob hanging out, brushing it vigorously up and down. And THAT was the moment I decided being alone has it's benefits, too.
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