Nothing a set of nips can't cure

Bryan and I went to the Sox game last night and instead of focusing on the depressing result of the match up, I will focus on a more exciting element present at the game: boobs. Our seats were in the bleachers, section 39, row 25. Sitting two rows in front of us, to our left in seat #1, was a well-endowed blond who chose to match her tight jeans with a tiny, white tank top. Don't know if you went outside last night, but the temperature hovered around 50 degrees; in row 23, this made the weather a "tit nipply" (yes, even the blind man sitting on top of the Dunkin Donut sign could see the beam). Bryan and I, and pretty much every pair of eyes in the rows behind us, watched enthralled as the woman stood, sat, stretched, left the row repeatedly going the "long way", nips pointed back, ran down the stairs and back up, bombs jiggling and raisins lighting her way every glorious one of the 25 stone steps. She arrived at the game with one average-looking man, and left with another non-descript gent prompting much post-game discussion about her, um, profession (who knew so many people still used the term whore in casual conversation?)

So, nipple girl, this post is for you. Instead of dwelling on the depressing, angering, and despairing feelings brought on by the loss of our hometown boys and the triumph of those employed by the evil empire, your stand-at-attention mammaries (plus a few Fenway brews) captured our concentration and our imagination, possibly preventing two more bodies from being pulled from the Charles. If only we knew where you were watching the dreaded weekend series...

I'm sure there are other important things to discuss: a lying, thieving Republican majority leader, the continuing struggle of people to recover from the walls of water dumped upon them, Kathy Griffin's divorce, and whether diet Dr. Pepper really does taste more like regular, but tonight is our "big night" at work: the annual Open House and Curriculum Fair, and I have to go make the library look pretty for the expected throngs.