Repressed memories...I'm sure I probably have a few, as do most people. Sometimes it can be a smell, a sound, or in my case, a touch that can unlock the past and bring those long forgotten memories flooding back into your mind. Often, those memories can be quite traumatic as was the case with me yesterday.
Let me set the stage. A co-worker and I were sitting at lunch. The restaurant was very crowded and we were seated at a small table near the back of the restaurant. The tables were quite close to one another which only added to the congestion of the noon hour lunch break. We had ordered our drinks, and as the waitress approached our table from behind me, she leaned over to place our drinks on the table, and then it happened. I say "it" because I'm not sure exactly what to call it. As I sat there, our waitress, Betty McBoobie Brains, leaned into the side of my face with...well...her boob. Yes, it smacked me right in the face or should I say, it sauntered by my ear, across my cheek and came to rest somewhere near my right eye as she placed our drinks on the table. What took only seconds, seemed like an eternity.
As she retreated, the facial massage was repeated only in reverse this time. Sitting there, somewhat stunned at what just took place, I asked my co-worker if he witnessed the boob slap or boob brush or boob rub or whatever I struggle to call it. He started to laugh and said, "Yep, she smacked you with ole Lefty Lucy..." and then he made some joke about me seeing the top of the mountain.
Surely, the encounter was an accident; but then I got to thinking that if it was an accident, she would have said something in an apologetic fashion. I mean, when a waitress forgets a lemon in my water she apologizes all over herself, so surely the boob brush would get some sort of remorseful comment. Nothing.
As I sat there, my mind began to flood with memories, long forgotten or "repressed" as I like to say. There was the woman at the place where I got my hair cut as a teenager. Every time she would lean me back to shampoo my hair, she would lean into me with her boobs. The dental hygienist...she didn't need to lean into my face while cleaning my incisors. The female police officer that leaned into my car while giving me a ticket...she didn't need to give me the boob brush. It was like my face had been plundered a thousand times over the years. Oh, I'm sure it was all innocent. Or was it? Sure, once or twice in a lifetime I could see being innocent mistakes; but with the hundreds of memories filling my brain of all the boob brushes, there is no way all of them could be mistakes. It is like my face is some sort of hyper-vortex that boobs get caught in and then the two are set on a collision course.
So was the boob brush an accident or do all girls learn this technique in Woman School? Certainly my waitress wasn't flirting with me...or was she? I mean...I am Bill Kirby and everyone loves Bill Kirby.
Be Well.
Bill
