Last Friday was the annual Father/Daughter Dance at my kids’ school. I was walking out the door after finishing my weekly obligatory “I have unresolved guilt from my childhood” volunteer duties, when I noticed the decorations for the dance and my head slowly tilted to the side. W.T.F.
I stared in absolute bewilderment and incomprehensible joy at the hundreds of inflated pink balloons, meticulously tied together and woven into a gigantic latex marvel for all to see. I could feel my lips start to quiver as I imagined the masses of little girls and their fathers walking through a magical, towered archway of…..wait for it……waaaaaaait for it……tits. Yes. Tits. Hundreds upon hundreds of tits.
I would have assumed that after blowing up a couple of those suckers, the person in charge would have said to himself, “By golly, I have made tits!” and opted for the predictable nautical theme or something of the sort. Alas, innocence prevailed and the school administration was now in a panic trying to figure out how to cover the tits before the dance. One teacher selflessly volunteered to work through her lunch hour to make pasties, another offered to have her class make tassels from yarn, one teacher suggested that they donate them to the fifth graders currently studying sexual education to provide a hands-on demonstration of “second base”.
After much debate, it was ultimately decided that the tits be covered in glitter. Good thinking. Stripper tits would totally boost the previously dejected morale amongst fathers while enticing them to buy more raffle tickets to support the PTA.
I was absolutely giddy thinking about all the dads coming home trying to explain to their wives why they had glitter all over their faces after they had been motorboating balloons in the corner with their buddies all night. I sent a text, accompanied with a picture of the balloons to my lesbian friend who was bringing her daughter to the dance, “Since you extra love tits, you are going to have the best night EVER. Can you please, please, please take a picture of Mike with them?” Annnnnd because she is not a selfish, fun hoarding bitch, she happily agreed to do it.
I then wondered which parents were going to be the tattletale, whiny babies notifying the school board first thing Monday morning. Laaaaaame. It is one thing to outlaw God in schools but don’t you dare take away tits. Which incidentally, can you really forbid God from going into public schools? No morons, you can’t. God can do whatever she wants. If I was God, I would float into schools all the time, “Oooogity, Booooogity…..I AM GOD AND I AM IN YOUR CAFETERIA! OOOOOOOOHHHHHHH. I am driiiiiinking a chocolate milk I did not pay for…..”
Anyway, since I love my kids’ teachers, I decided I would have no choice but to defend them if someone complained. And by defend, I mean publicly shun the parent by making them out to be the pervert and possibly burning a cross in their front yard depending on my mood. “No one else was thinking about tits until YOU brought it up. What is wrong with you?” At least, I can sleep at night knowing that I always take the high road. I hope you have a fab week. Xx
This piece was originally published on http://www.erinsays.com/breast-day-ever