Last night’s conversation between Greg and me:

Greg: You put a picture of your boob on the internet.

Me: Well, sort of. It doesn’t really look like a boob and it’s for mammogram awareness, so it doesn’t count as, like, putting a picture of my boob on the internet. 

Greg: Except that you put a picture of your boob on the internet.

Me: That’s not entirely true. I mean, yes. Technically, it’s my boob. But it’s the radio-active, x-ray version of my boob. Like what Superman would see if he x-ray visioned it. 

Greg: Exactly. It’s a boob.

Me: Which makes me feel a little sad for Superman for being maligned as a voyeur all these years. X-ray vision isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Obviously.

Greg: It’s still a boob.

Me: Yeah, but not a boob boob. I mean, it doesn’t look like a boob. It looks more like a jello mold with vertigo.

Greg: It’s a boob.

Me: Or a drunk jelly fish.

Greg: It’s a boob.

Quick Poll

 

Does this look like:

1. a boob

2. an anti-jello-mold campaign poster 
   

3. a jelly fish who’s totally going to drunk dial his girlfriend and regret it in the morning

 

 

So.

What do you say?

P.S. My next post will probably be about Jesus. This is your pre-whiplash warning. Also, thank God you and Greg put up with me. I am SUCH a weirdo.

P.P.S. Greg was laughing during our entire boob conversation. Horrified. But laughing. One time, when I was trying to convince him that life’s more entertaining being married to me than it would be if he’d married, say, a nice girl, I said, “SEE? You’re never bored with me!” And he said, “You’re right. I’m never bored. Never, ever bored. Frequently appalled. But never bored.”

😀