Slipped over to York, Maine, yesterday for a “laughing lunch” at a retreat for a nonprofit organization. There were 14 of us, all women, so I told the story of Priscilla in Haverhill. Priscilla asked if I’d like to hear the story of the time she got her foot stuck in her bra. I said, indeed I would.
“Well,” she said, “when I get home from shopping or doctor visits or anything, the first thing I do is take my bra off and hang it on the knob of the bedroom door. I was in the kitchen having coffee with my daughter and she wanted me to read something in the newspaper. So I took my coffee and went to the bedroom to get my reading glasses off the night stand. On the way out, coffee in one hand, reading glasses in the other, I went to kick the bedroom door closed. And that’s when I got my foot stuck in my bra.”
Then she added: “If I was a 42D instead of a 34B, I’d still be swinging.”
“Well,” she said, “when I get home from shopping or doctor visits or anything, the first thing I do is take my bra off and hang it on the knob of the bedroom door. I was in the kitchen having coffee with my daughter and she wanted me to read something in the newspaper. So I took my coffee and went to the bedroom to get my reading glasses off the night stand. On the way out, coffee in one hand, reading glasses in the other, I went to kick the bedroom door closed. And that’s when I got my foot stuck in my bra.”
Then she added: “If I was a 42D instead of a 34B, I’d still be swinging.”
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