So I'm in bed with my darling husband last night -- not 'in bed' as is 'rambunctiously cuddling' but merely 'in bed' as 'whew, what a day; let's pretend to be inanimate for 8 hours or so' -- talking about D&D, I think, and how supremely unfair and hilarious it is that I, a halfling mage, seem to also be supplying the role of fighter(I roll 20s; he rolls 3s. Consistently.) when out of the blue, this conversation takes place:
Me: I think the red d20 just hates you.
Ed: I think one of your boobs is bigger than the other.
Ed: Just a little bit.
Me: Most women have one boob a little biger than the other. Is it noticeable?
Ed: Not really; not visibly, anyway, but they feel a bit different.
Ed: (trying to check) Yeah, I think the left one is a bit bigger.
Me: You're so romantic.
Ed. Heh. Your left boob is the runt boob.
Me: RUNT BOOB?!
Ed: You know. Smallest of the littler, never allowed to play with the bigger, more popular boobs --
Me: ...I have a runt boob.
Ed: It's a cute runt boob!
Me: Shut up, Ed.
I wish I were making this up. I really, really wish that I wasn't just repeating verbatim a conversation I actually had with my husband shortly after midnight on a Tuesday night. I really, really do. Instead, I have been informed I have a Runt Boob. Matrimonial bliss.
Is it possible to be hung over three days after drinking? Sunday night, things got a little silly. I didn't really notice I was getting a wee bit tipsy while I was sitting down, having perfectly lucid (if giggly) conversations and flicking bits of stale nacho at unsuspecting Eds. When we all got up to leave, however, something disturbing happened: apparently, the neurons in charge on running my legs decidedd to take the evening off the leave those motor functions in the hands of a nervous intern who managed to spill coffee on the manual. In other words, I was falling all over myself. Stupid feet and legs. Stupid gravity. I should have been warned the new trainee was someone from the limbic system's idiot nephew. None of my dentrites tell me anything.
Anyway, I woke up Monday feeling fine; Tuesday, overworked but okay; Wednesday...I feel like ass. I feel, specifically, like hungover ass. Three days later. Apparently my digestion has also been left in the hands of FNGs. I think I need to have a work with my H.R. department.
Or stop drinking.
Come, Runt Boob. Let's make ourselves and Afternoon Cocktail to chase the Advil.