More Updates on My Boobs

We killed a spider last week in the laundry room. It was long and lean and I’d recognize it if I saw it again, but I don’t know enough about spiders to tell you what kind it was. All I know is that, as a general rule, I have no moral dilemmas when it comes to squashing insects, yet spiders freak me the fuck out. One look at this guy and I was white as a sheet. I don’t scream or cry or whine like some women do, but I save the squashing honors for Mike, who takes a perverse pleasure in demolishing creatures that frighten me. This is big, considering the fact that very few cats would be walking the Earth if I had my way, and if there was ever a reason to shoot for Heaven, it was the fact that cats undoubtedly go to hell. I’ve known one decent cat in my life, and his name was Fatty. He was big and lazy and he slept on my speakers to feel the bass vibrate. He was practically a dog, and that’s what I loved about him.

More on cats some other time. Back to spiders.

So, I wake up this morning and go to jump in the shower to get ready for work, and notice a soreness on my breast. Looking down, I realize that there is a giant spider bite on my left breast. I’d love to go into details, but for brevity’s sake I will simply relate that every color under the rainbow was involved in the … exposure … of this pestule. I actually yelped.

I YELPED.

After work I went to the doctor. My doctor here is a man who is known for avoiding eye contact, and was not pleased at all when I told him about my situation.

“Well, you see, the bite is on my breast.”
“Oh that isn’t fun.” He stares at the wall as he speaks to me, blinking furiously. “Any way you can modestly show it to me, or do we need a female nurse present?”
“I’ve had a team of three men sew my vagina together after giving birth, I’m not too worried about you seeing the underside of my breast. In the interest of time, I’m not opposed to simply lifting up the bra from the underwire.”

He stared into the wall for a few seconds, probably counting to ten and trying to rid himself of the visual I had presented him with. Shit, I did him a favor — this bite is disgusting, but compared to a bloated version of myself being sewn up like a ripped sleeve, it’s centerfold material.

He agreed to examine the bite, and I believe he managed to look at it for about three seconds. Three seconds that involved a lot of blinking and at least four feet of distance.

“Well, it appears as though an insect became rather fond of you last night.” He chuckled, rolling back in his chair and focusing his attention on the wall once again. The implications of his statement sunk in. Suddenly I was grossed out by my bite in an entirely new way, and I heard myself mutter, “Disgusting.”

After a ten minute lecture on removing your own puss and the horrors of lancing, I was on my way to the pharmacy for some horse pills. He suggested I go braless for a couple days, and I mentioned that this would not go over well with the Special Ed. class I have been substituting in. He laughed, but would not stop looking at the wall. I had begun to worry that there was something on my face - a sore, a lump of cake, puss? I had no clue.

So the boobs are out of commission for a few days. I was going to just put Betty (the injured one) on profile, but it’s not fair to Veronica, so they’re both down for the count. I can handle that, it’s going to sleep tonight that scares me - what if my spider suitor returns for more? What if Veronica is hurt?

Never fear, I will keep you posted.

P.S. Comments are closed until I have time to straighten out the html (there is some funky error going on in there), so email me with the comments or questions. Betty and Veronica will be taking calls later this week. missarrow@gmail.com