EAT AT STREET

Occasionally, I blog out of sheer boredom.  This usually happens when I’m waiting at the doctor’s office.  Like today.  Actually, I’m not even at Dr Schmidt’s office.  It’s down the hall.  And it’s full.  Totally full.  That’s okay though.  There are no computers in there.  Instead, there is a TV that’s not always broadcasting something inane, but sometimes is.  I prefer to avoid that if possible.  So here I am.

The computers are located next to the boutique.  You remember the boutique, right?  It’s where I got to try on my Aunt Phyllis’s hair before ultimately deciding I didn’t want a wig. 

The boutique is also where I first met The Foob.   It was like something straight out of an episode of The Young and the Breastless.  There I was…looking for a boob to replace the one I’d lost.  Oh, not a permanent boob.  You know, just a rebound boob.  And there he was—all flesh colored, and triangular, and French.  I knew as soon as I saw him that I must take him home.  Because, without him, my cup would be empty. 

For a while, we went everywhere together, he and I.  I took him mushroom hunting, and he took me to Cirque du Soleil.  Eventually, however, something began to come between us.  Indeed, it was my expander.  And while we continued on, trying to ignore the obvious signs, in the end we had to admit that it wasn’t going to work.