It's amusing the things we remember about people.
This woman came into the store the other day to have her ring cleaned and I recognized her face.
I had worked with her six years ago when I was a receptionist for a steel fabricating company.
My boss used to reprimand me for using the bathroom too often.
I think he was pissed because he was at that age where trips to the urologist outnumbered the times he got laid.
It's the only job I ever walked out on.
Thankfully I found a job several days later.
As a receptionist at a roofing company.
A mere street away from the steel fabricating company.
Thankfully that boss didn't mind when I had to pee so I was much happier.
The woman who had worked with me I remembered for only one reason.
She came up to me one day and asked me what kind of bra I wore to make my breasts spaced so far apart.
"My husband doesn't like my cleavage," she had said. "He wants them to be more far apart. Like yours."
I could never decide what upset me more.
The fact she was pointing out my Double D's were spaced perfectly for breast feeding twins--Oh. The horror.--or the fact she was married to such a neanderthal.
Most women desperately wanted their cleavage reminiscent of Dolly Parton the way men wanted their beards to be full like Paul Bunyan.
Yet my body dared to fight against the norm.
It had been designed for the ease of feeding bastards which I wanted none of.
Humor is Life's specialty, after all.
So there she stood before me.
Miss too much cleavage, herself.
When I brought her ring up to my eye to examine her diamond with my loop I nearly wretched seeing how filthy it was.
The way women don't ever clean their jewelry is amazing to me.
It's like not bathing for six months, carrying that filth on their hand and then placing it a few inches from my nose.
Lovely.
She didn't recognize me which wasn't surprising since I'm no longer a blonde.
Hair color's a big deal, you know.
Almost as big as boobs.
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