Unleash the Hounds

“I hate my bras.” 

Is she talking to me? There’s no one else here so she must be talking to me. It wasn’t an actual question so maybe I’m not supposed to say anything; maybe this is one of those times when I’m just supposed to just shut up and listen. Uh-oh, can’t resist the urge to respond. 

“Then get new ones, dear.” 

That was good; my reply was short, responsive to the problem at hand and neutral. I should be safe.

“I hate all bras.” 

“Why?” 

What am doing?  Asking questions only prolongs the dialogue. Luckily, that last remark was not provocative. Unfortunately, it feigned interest. 

“Because they constrain my boobs.”

Isn’t that the express purpose of a bra?

“Don’t wear a bra, dear.”

“Then my boobs would sag.”

Given enough time they’re going to sag anyway. I’m glad that last retort remained within the confines of my skull. This conversation could easily go awry. I better proceed with caution.

“Get smaller boobs, dear.”

Another problem solved. Maybe now she’ll let me go back to reading this Treasury Department report on Social Security.

“I need big boobs to balance my fat ass.” 

DANGER, Will Robinson, DANGER! Almost any reply at this point could lead to celibacy.

“Then get a smaller ass.” 

Really? Did I just say what it sounded like I said? Oh, she’s good, I stepped right into that snare. 

“Well, that’s easier said than done.”

Wait. I’m still breathing; I’m still alive. She didn’t deliver the coup de grâce. I’m just going to play dead now and hope the beast leaves me alone.