Yesterday at work I was standing in the dinning room waiting on the kitchen staff with my Aid standing beside me. “My damn boobs hurt!” I mumbled. Why? Well, I’m a chronic over-sharer and they we REALLY hurting yesterday. Every time I had to go up and down the stairs (I work two floors and I don’t have time to wait for the elevator when going between…ever) I had to grasp my teeny tiny boobs that for some reason thought they weighted 10 thousand pounds each, for dear life. I was just lucky I didn’t have people on each floor seeing me wonder why their nurse┬ákeeps grabbing her own boobs.

“ARE YOU PREGNANT!?!?!?!” she excitedly whispered back.

Damn it “Not a clue, I’m not due yet, but they’ve been sore for 9 months now so I’m not taking it as a sign”

“Oh, wouldn’t that be such a nice Christmas present for you!” She even had wistful face going.

“Yes, yes it would”. I wish I wish I wish I wish.

It was my fault, I started it. And Now I have the “wouldn’t it be a nice Christmas present…” suck in my head.