I'm An Ass Man Myself
A disclaimer should really follow the beginning of this blog. Firstly, I don't like Friends nor do I find the show's (and every other sitcom's) tendency to use sexual jokes which imply big breasts or penises are necessary. It doesn't matter what size gift God gave you, just be happy that you got a present at all. The fact remains, however, that big breasts exist. And that, my friends, is where our tale begins today.
I recently ventured onto Queen Street in Toronto with Marina and, for the most part, it was a very typical day. We ate lunch at this (fairly) new restaurant, East, and we were laughing the entire time. I have this strange tendency to run into at least one person I know no matter where it is that I travel so, even though we were in Canada's largest city, I was ready to run into someone. Halfway through our meal, I noticed a girl at the table behind Marina who looked strangely familiar so I looked at her, trying to remember if perhaps I went to school with her, or maybe worked with her at a summer job but nothing rang a bell inside my head. Finally, after 5 minutes of staring, Marina turns around to see who is taking my attention away from her.
"Adam, stop staring."
"I'm sorry, I think I know that girl."
"Yeah. She's a Muchmusic VJ."
I was torn between wanting to laugh hysterically and needing to puke immediately. I'm sure she noticed me looking at her and I'm sure she thought I was one of those MTV-wannabes who just couldn't wait to meet a super cool VJ. I suck.
Marina quickly changed the subject (which is unlike her- usually she would make fun of my stupidity for as long as possible) and lunch was uneventful, fairly unbloggable even, until the girl beside us loudly proclaimed, "Maybe I'm pregnant." Wow, I was I was so slutty that I could add that into one of my frequent reasons for why I've gained weight. Go buy a pregnancy test, mom, I just gained 5 pounds.
After lunch, we did the most typical thing a gay man and his girlfriend can do in any downtown metropolis. We shopped. And shopped. And shopped. And didn't buy anything really. But we shopped.
Well, maybe it wasn't that typical since we were really only on the hunt for t-shirts. I found two and Marina found one for her sister but, sadly, none for herself. That's probably because, unlike the rest of us, Marina has to fit three people into her shirts; herself, and her two breasts. Yes, you were wondering when the breast-talk was coming back, I know. Well, here it is.
Sometimes I forgot about Marina's blessing from above, so when she asked me to come into the change room in order to see what the top looked like, I was nearly blown back. Literally. (Marina is going to kill me, but this story must be told.)
My favourite moment though was when she tried on a Care Bears t-shirt which read "All About The Love." Once on Marina, however, it read "All About The LOVE." Yes, I never thought it could happen but I watched someone's breasts change the writing on a shirt from small caps to capital letters.
I demanded that she remove that shirt immediately as well and both of us agreed that, unless she were entering a mud wrestling competition, she should never wear a t-shirt like that. As we were leaving, the salesman at the store had a completely different opinion.
"Are you getting the Care Bear t-shirt?"
"No, it's a bit small."
"Oh, I thought it was flattering on you."
Ew. But I guess it goes to show that there will always be a Marina-shaped hole in the staff at Hooters.
I recently ventured onto Queen Street in Toronto with Marina and, for the most part, it was a very typical day. We ate lunch at this (fairly) new restaurant, East, and we were laughing the entire time. I have this strange tendency to run into at least one person I know no matter where it is that I travel so, even though we were in Canada's largest city, I was ready to run into someone. Halfway through our meal, I noticed a girl at the table behind Marina who looked strangely familiar so I looked at her, trying to remember if perhaps I went to school with her, or maybe worked with her at a summer job but nothing rang a bell inside my head. Finally, after 5 minutes of staring, Marina turns around to see who is taking my attention away from her.
"Adam, stop staring."
"I'm sorry, I think I know that girl."
"Yeah. She's a Muchmusic VJ."
I was torn between wanting to laugh hysterically and needing to puke immediately. I'm sure she noticed me looking at her and I'm sure she thought I was one of those MTV-wannabes who just couldn't wait to meet a super cool VJ. I suck.
Marina quickly changed the subject (which is unlike her- usually she would make fun of my stupidity for as long as possible) and lunch was uneventful, fairly unbloggable even, until the girl beside us loudly proclaimed, "Maybe I'm pregnant." Wow, I was I was so slutty that I could add that into one of my frequent reasons for why I've gained weight. Go buy a pregnancy test, mom, I just gained 5 pounds.
After lunch, we did the most typical thing a gay man and his girlfriend can do in any downtown metropolis. We shopped. And shopped. And shopped. And didn't buy anything really. But we shopped.
Well, maybe it wasn't that typical since we were really only on the hunt for t-shirts. I found two and Marina found one for her sister but, sadly, none for herself. That's probably because, unlike the rest of us, Marina has to fit three people into her shirts; herself, and her two breasts. Yes, you were wondering when the breast-talk was coming back, I know. Well, here it is.
Sometimes I forgot about Marina's blessing from above, so when she asked me to come into the change room in order to see what the top looked like, I was nearly blown back. Literally. (Marina is going to kill me, but this story must be told.)
My favourite moment though was when she tried on a Care Bears t-shirt which read "All About The Love." Once on Marina, however, it read "All About The LOVE." Yes, I never thought it could happen but I watched someone's breasts change the writing on a shirt from small caps to capital letters.
I demanded that she remove that shirt immediately as well and both of us agreed that, unless she were entering a mud wrestling competition, she should never wear a t-shirt like that. As we were leaving, the salesman at the store had a completely different opinion.
"Are you getting the Care Bear t-shirt?"
"No, it's a bit small."
"Oh, I thought it was flattering on you."
Ew. But I guess it goes to show that there will always be a Marina-shaped hole in the staff at Hooters.
posted by Martely at 2:29 PM
4 Comments:
I thought for sure you were going to add a blog about Caroline's girlfriends falling out of her shirt Friday night! I'm so jealous! I wish my boobs could make letters grow bigger on a t-shirt. But they just make the letters even smaller!!!
~Tiki
I've never physically gone to a Hooter's establishment.
There is an underlying fear in me that they'll present me with an application instead of a cheque.
Mark, I don't think i ever laughed so hard. reading your blog was inspirational. poor marina. i know her pain though being rather busty myself. or i don't know...is it pain? maybe she likes it. i will definately have to ask her next time i see her. forget it, i'll just ask her in her blog.
Who are you, anonymous blogger? I've deduced two things: One, you know Marina well enough to ask her about her breasts and two, you think my name is Mark. Oh dear Lord, Marina, she's going to confuse me for your Filipino friend. I should just commit suicide now. (Nothing against Mark, just his race...haha!)
Post a Comment
Links to this post:
Create a Link
<< Home