A few years ago I was sitting at my sister in law’s place watching TV when my niece who was probably about 5 at the time, came strolling into the room and stood next to me. I noticed she was giving me the hairy eyeball pretty bad so I looked at her and before I could ask what she was doing she said:
“Uncle Richie, how come you have boobies?”
“Oh, sweetie,” I said chuckling, “I don’t have boobies!”
She looked at me with one of those expressions that says that "Denial" is not just a river in Egypt and said while nodding sagely, “Yeeeeah, I think you got boobies…”
“Go get me a drink, would you?” I said grumpily and she trotted off to the kitchen where she promptly forgot to get me a drink and decided to play with the dog.*
There’s a wake up call for ya, right fellas? Your five year old niece comments on your cans.
Sigh. That’s with a capital “s” for sure kids.
The sad thing is, she was right. I don’t look like Kitten Natividad or anything (go ahead, look her up but not at work!) nor do I expect to be cast in a Russ Meyer film, but let’s just say along with the pony keg I need to get rid of the moobs.
*I ended up getting my own drink, by the way. I know you were wondering.
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