welcome to the second installment of "i can't make this s*#t up". you first met this series here and, i'm certain, have been eagerly awaiting it's follow up. i know i have (heavy sarcasm, like super heavy).
picture this:
girl goes to the beach. she's standing in perfect 90 degree weather. the kind of 90 degree weather where there is just the right amount of breeze. a giant yellow sun is hanging directly overhead in the sky against a bold blue backdrop. calm waves are rocking her back and forth and she stands in the waist high water, letting her toes sink in to the buttery white sand beneath. there are children laughing off in the distance. the girl is thanking her lucky stars for a day so amazing and wondering if she can capture the moment's perfectness (it's a word if i want it to be one) in a voice memo, sell it to apple, have it become the world's best selling sound machine app, make millions, retire to this very same spot and live in this perfectness (see how well that works there?) forever.
sounds pretty nice, right?
it was.
was.
it came from out of nowhere (this is also what i told my parents in regards to the other cars involved in a series of fender benders that i caused in high school). all i really remember of the giant kelly slater worthy wave that is to blame for this story is how hard it hit me upside the head. it slapped me. ike turner style. as i regained my balance, composure, and grip on the sunglasses that were nearly knocked off of my face i couldn't help but notice that something felt different. i was in the presence of a freedom that wasn't there before that wave and i met. and then, there it was. the startling realization that my right... ahem... chest biscuit had popped out of it's home in my single strap bathing suit top and decided, without my permission, to introduce itself to watercolor beach. yep. let that sink in for a second. right chest biscuit. open air. public and nude un-friendly beach. for about 4 and half minutes (megan time, real time was more like 3 seconds). it is not necessarily of importance to note that after a couple of days in the sun my newly formed tan lines really emphasized my glowing white and free flying chest biscuit, but it really does add nice detail to the story... don't you think? oh yeah. so hot.
"so, did everyone on the beach see????" you ask, mortified for me yet again. nope. better. well, better for the story anyway. my sole spectator was a roughly 12 year old boy who is going to have to get his jaw wired shut after how hard it hit the sand. his mouth was open so wide that i'm pretty sure i saw his tonsils. i rapidly reassembled myself, gave him a little 'i'm sorry but you're kind of welcome' wave and high tailed it outta there before he could point out to his parents who it was that just showed him his first mammary gland in the wild.
anyone have a contact in J.Crew's swimsuit customer support... er, lack of support? holla at a girl.
i can't make this s*#t up.
picture this:
girl goes to the beach. she's standing in perfect 90 degree weather. the kind of 90 degree weather where there is just the right amount of breeze. a giant yellow sun is hanging directly overhead in the sky against a bold blue backdrop. calm waves are rocking her back and forth and she stands in the waist high water, letting her toes sink in to the buttery white sand beneath. there are children laughing off in the distance. the girl is thanking her lucky stars for a day so amazing and wondering if she can capture the moment's perfectness (it's a word if i want it to be one) in a voice memo, sell it to apple, have it become the world's best selling sound machine app, make millions, retire to this very same spot and live in this perfectness (see how well that works there?) forever.
sounds pretty nice, right?
it was.
was.
it came from out of nowhere (this is also what i told my parents in regards to the other cars involved in a series of fender benders that i caused in high school). all i really remember of the giant kelly slater worthy wave that is to blame for this story is how hard it hit me upside the head. it slapped me. ike turner style. as i regained my balance, composure, and grip on the sunglasses that were nearly knocked off of my face i couldn't help but notice that something felt different. i was in the presence of a freedom that wasn't there before that wave and i met. and then, there it was. the startling realization that my right... ahem... chest biscuit had popped out of it's home in my single strap bathing suit top and decided, without my permission, to introduce itself to watercolor beach. yep. let that sink in for a second. right chest biscuit. open air. public and nude un-friendly beach. for about 4 and half minutes (megan time, real time was more like 3 seconds). it is not necessarily of importance to note that after a couple of days in the sun my newly formed tan lines really emphasized my glowing white and free flying chest biscuit, but it really does add nice detail to the story... don't you think? oh yeah. so hot.
"so, did everyone on the beach see????" you ask, mortified for me yet again. nope. better. well, better for the story anyway. my sole spectator was a roughly 12 year old boy who is going to have to get his jaw wired shut after how hard it hit the sand. his mouth was open so wide that i'm pretty sure i saw his tonsils. i rapidly reassembled myself, gave him a little 'i'm sorry but you're kind of welcome' wave and high tailed it outta there before he could point out to his parents who it was that just showed him his first mammary gland in the wild.
anyone have a contact in J.Crew's swimsuit customer support... er, lack of support? holla at a girl.
i can't make this s*#t up.
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