“Hey, You With the Boobs!”


There’s a girl at my office with the biggest rack ever.

I mean, there’s simply no other way to put it. Hindenburg-huge. Preposterously gargantuan. Incapable of being restrained by the strongest of sports bras or tightly-knit sweaters.

They are, for lack of better terminology, ginormous.

And everyone knows this. Her boss knows it. Her coworkers. Every guy in the mailroom knows “Sarah with the boobs.” Christ, the vending machine that spits out our coffee and candy bars knows it.

Folks, her boobs are fucking huge.

So the other day, myself and Sarah and her boobs and a few other coworkers find ourselves at the local “TGIFridays” — where the good times are incessant! — for that most gut-wrenching of office niceties, the birthday lunch. And one of the girls is showing off her new tinted contacts, and she’s apparently quite happy because she’d rather men focus on her eyes than what she deemed her “beak-like nose.”

And Sarah chimes in that she’s quite proud of her own deep blue eyes, because, and I quote, “they’re the first things guys notice about me.”

Not on this planet, hon. Not in this lifetime.

But it did get me thinking. Are we fooling ourselves with what we truly think are our best features? I recall a former Kenette who had a model-quality ass, the kind that snarls traffic and turns men to stone at first glance [how I let that one slip away is still a sore subject]. But she was convinced her impossibly curly blonde hair was what drew myself and countless other guys in.

Hell, I even fool myself. Hours of sweating my balls off in the gym have convinced me that my arms and chest are what keep the ladies coming. But if you ask the ladies, they’ll probably tell you what they really dig is how I always pick up the bar tab.

And that I’m usually gone and out of their lives by morning.

1 Comment

  1. Stephanie Dorman

    June 5, 2013 at 8:48 am

    Sarah? Did you mean Stephanie? Do you secretly work with me?

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