He is bald. Has a beer belly. Wears a red wife-beater T-shirt. His chest hair is ropy and tangled. His back hair is ropy and tangled. The wife beater T-shirt doesn’t actually fit, but rests loosely atop this tangle. He’s a giant Brillo pad draped in cotton. And right now, he’s at the condiment stand, muttering to himself, having a half-and-half emergency. From my perch at the bar, I see this — this wiry, mumbly dairy product crisis. I don’t have a drink up, so I amble over to assist. I am at his side, inches from his side. He turns towards me. And as his body turns towards me, with the tangles and the ropes, the T-shirt loosely shifts the other way.
“Oh, hey — can I help — oh –“
I just stop like that, mid-sentence, mid-thought, mid-everything. Because I am now eye to eye with IT. And I mean, eye to EYE with IT. His giant, naked nipple. His totally proactive nipple. His extremely cab-forward nipple. And for the briefest moment, I am speaking to IT. Because — oh, sweet Lord — it is right there. In my face. Having slipped the lazy bonds of that absurd and pointless T-shirt. It is watching me, I swear, this fleshy, prying eyeball. Maybe reading my thoughts. I am suddenly self-conscious. He, on the other hand, is not. Not at ALL. He is utterly nonchalant that his nipple is a huge sentient wine cork that watches people and reads their thoughts. I am officially freaked. I make my mind a blank and fumble my way through his dairy crisis.
“Oh, haha. Look. The lid was in the wrong position. All right. Thereyougo!”
Quickly, I turn to scurry back to the bar. And I still feel it. Watching me. Reading my thoughts. I scurry a little faster, hide behind the espresso machine, pull myself a double shot, and pray for IT to leave.
“He is utterly nonchalant that his nipple is a huge sentient wine cork that watches people and reads their thoughts.” Hahahahahaha! OMG sentient wine cork? Ahahahahaha! Oh man, BREATHE!
Sorry, Missy! I figured I might get a lot of “n*pple” spam, so if that word pops up, the comment goes into moderation.
But I didn’t want to write n*pple in the post.
Cab-forward n*pple is fantastic.
You can spam up all you want, Tracey, you’re moving to a new blog addy in a couple of weeks. It’s all about being a moving target, right?
On the downside, I can no longer eat lunch. EVER.
Oh, my. Getting flashed. Does your workplace officially qualify as “hostile” now?
sentient wine cork.
I mean. I just can’t get past it. I really can’t.
I agree.
“sentient wine cork.” Definitely the best turn of words I’ve read all week.
I can only echo the others. Great phrase. Creepy event, but a good post came of it. : )
AUGH!!!! I’m repulsed and laughing at the same time!
*full body shiver*
It knows your… secrets…
And to think….with the genders reversed, what happened to you would be many young mens’ dreams….well, maybe without the body hair and wife-beater t-shirt.
but seriously. I. Am. Skeeved. Out. Now.
The worst wardrobe-malfunctions I’ve seen in my job are the girls in the teeny tiny camisole tops or the low-rider plumber butt jeans, but neither of those rise to the level of horror of the sentient wine cork.
Oh how funny! I can’t imagine seeing that at a coffee shop – unless you’re in the right part of town. On the other hand, I’ve seen some pretty amazingly huge nipples at the swimming pool where my kids take swimming lessons. I never knew that they could get so big!