Boobs 'R Everything

I had a crappy day, so to lighten my spirits I visited the Blog Next Door.
One of the posters (who's name I will not reveal but rhymes with "Pinky")
made a comment that reminded me of a personal story. It was a memory trigger so it doesn't count as theft. Besides, did I mention that I had a crappy day?

14 years ago two very important events occurred in my life.

1. I had my first child
2. I was laid off from my job due to the generosity of the taxpayers and my bottom of the list seniority status.

So I started sending out resumes and arranging interviews. Problem was, I had JUST given birth and LOOKED like I'd just given birth. Let's just say I wasn't the kind of gal who could take her newborn home and slip right back into those size 4 jeans. I was, in fact, vocally angry with my doctor about all of the extra weight...I recall, after being told my precious newborn child weighed six pounds four ounces, saying to my doctor "Well that PLACENTA better weigh 45 pounds!!!" Drugs, highly recommended during childbirth, will make you say that kind of stuff (Ok...TMI).

Thus, my Professional Interview Attire consisted of dresses my 4X4 Italian grandmother would wear-minus the apron and spaghetti sauce stains.

Anyway, my former in-laws had to drive me to one of my interviews because I had this tiny creature who was reliant on me for sustenance. They aren't exactly a "Fun Loving Easy Going" couple. Before we began our journey, they both pulled out their rosaries and recited in unison some "Driving" prayer. That was a little creepy. And I'm sure my father-in-law, who was behind the wheel, was drunk. He's been drunk for well over 80 years, so that was a no-brainer.

So me and my little charge were in the back seat on the way to the interview when suddenly I began to lactate. A lot. I couldn't even make a joke about it to my chauffers-And I certainly wasn't about to whip out a boob and start to nurse in THAT company. So I just quietly, and unsuccessfully, attempted to fan away the stubborn "Mother's Milk" spots that were getting larger by the mile and compromising my already pathetic Professional Interview Attire.

I cannot even imagine what the interviewers thought when I arrived with enormous wet spots covering both of my boobs. I wish I had said "Hello. I'm lactating. So could you stop staring at my breasts with those horrified looks on your faces?"

Guess what? I didn't get the job. My boob stains obviously made FAR more of an impression than my wonderful Letters of Recommendation, my pristine professional performance, my perfect college grade point average, and my Phi Beta Kappa membership. So I stopped nursing-we Phi Beta Kappas learn wicked quick: Boob status trumps everything else.