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November 22, 2005

Volume 8, Issue 22

Apparently, the theme that was here was a repeat.

So here's a replacement:

Your story must start with the line:

She was wearing a push-up bra.

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Comments

She was wearing a push-up bra.

Starring in the changing room mirror, starring at the empty scar on her right chest, and now the doctor’s prognosis for her left side, would leave her, a matched set…..
of nothing.

She couldn’t bring herself before a mirror until today. Now, she felt more bare than naked, disfigured, deformed. How she had snootily glanced at girls less endow, kept coming back to haunt her.

How could she go on?
Her husband said he didn’t care, he just wanted her to be there….... for the kids.

“The kids” she breathed “I can go on.”

Posted by: kasac at November 22, 2005 10:47 AM · Permalink

"She was wearing a push-up bra."

"How tall was she?"

"I'm not really sure. Shorter than me, I think."

"What was she wearing?"

"I already told you -- a push-up bra. Oh yes, and a low-cut blouse."

"What about her weight or the color of her eyes or hair?"

"Not a clue."

"Sir, this woman held you up at gunpoint and took everything you have. Isn't there anything specific that you can give us that might provide a clue to her identity?"

"Well, I think it was a Victoria's Secret Very Sexy model. Holiday Red. I have one just like it."

Posted by: Don at November 22, 2005 11:09 AM · Permalink

“She was wearing a push-up bra,” Ellen says. As though a woman’s choice in undergarments is, in and of itself, is a clear indictment of a flawed character.

I slow the car. “How could you possibly know that, dear?”

“Breasts do not defy gravity,” she smugly replies.

“Whatever,” I shrug and turn my attention back to the road.

“Then again,” Ellen continues, “she might have had them enlarged during her last liposuction. And did you notice how she was all over you?”

“Of course I noticed,” I sigh. Why does this happen every time we go to visit my mother?

Posted by: Jim Parkinson at November 22, 2005 8:53 PM · Permalink