The funny thing about boobs is…..

34B? When the fuck did this happen? When did God decide to take away my bountiful C cup? (God has nothing to do with this Flame) Has anybody else noticed this little change or is it just me? I even went so far as to text Bud Bleeze some pictures of the old girls, and because I've known him since I was 11, (and he's always been a bit obsessed with my ladies), he definitely would know whether they are smaller, bigger, more left or more right. He would even know if they are two shades darker from tanning; that is how much love he has for my breasts. So I text him these photos, hoping for some sort of honest reply. 

When he didn't immediately respond, I sent him another picture, thinking perhaps the first just didn't do them justice. 

Finally he responded, in text: 

Bud Bleeze: You have to quit sending me dirty pictures of your tits, because now I'm walking around work with a hard on. People don't like being served by a horny waiter.....

Me: BUT ARE THEY SMALLER????

BB: Maybe a little, but you have been losing weight and running, what did you expect? Maybe just send me one more picture of them. Please Bleeze.

Me: Smiley face. (with an additional tit shot)

Which brings me to my next point.....

I've known Bleeze since we were 11. He was 10 actually, and we've been best buddies ever since. Nobody notices things like he does, so anytime I do something different, I always ask myself, what is Bud Bleeze gonna say. And every time I see him, he points out all the little changes in me, even the ones that I didn't notice. 

Like last time we hung out, I was going through this "wearing light make-up" phase. 

BB: "what the fuck are you wearing make-up for?"

Me: "Maybe I wanna look pretty."

BB: "You are pretty. This isn't your face. Where's my Bleeze face?"

Me: "All right, I'll wash it off."

We've always been good like that, always been honest, sometimes brutally honest, and when it comes to our friendship, its always the fine details that matter. Which brings me to my final point. 

Not enough people notice the little things in life. Like the way the sun hits your bed in the morning, or how a bird swoops down and picks up a grasshopper while you're sitting in 101 traffic. 

The other night, I was in bed with Mr. East Egg (finally found an appropriate name for my phoenix lover) after an "electrically" charged and multi-orgasmic round in the sac, and he commented on the perfection of my belly button, which I must admit I forget I have sometimes. I felt a bit awkward prior to that because his life is lined up perfectly (like the way he places his "How to make buttloads of money" books square in the middle of his end tables, the space surrounding each book uniform, or the way all his food is lined up in the fridge, perfect little rows or pre-made deliciousness), and mine is not (for example, my "Tibetan Book of Living and Dying" is thrown at an angel next to my bed, and Norman Mailer's "The Naked and the Dead" is tattered and torn, sitting in my purse waiting for our next moment alone, and although we (East Egg and I) have indistinguishable tastes far as classic literature is concerned, I'm afraid I don't have a single book on how to make, save or invest money). But that doesn't matter because like I said, it's all in the finer details that one finds another attractive. Which may explain why, like animals, we stayed up till the wee hours of the morning, feeling and devouring every inch of each others body. 

I'm not quite sure where I'm going with this, but I feel like its a special event when someone notices your bellybutton, or whether you are wearing the slightest bit of make-up. I feel like its this sort of attentiveness that makes for amazing lovers, and best friends.