Write

The Breast St. Patty’s Day Ever

I’m always the afterthought. It’s only when She’s ready to get dressed does She have to confront that I’m just hanging out and getting in the wa

Story by Sabrina Cognata - sabbyc@gmail.com Photos by Hunter Skinnyblood
Photo © Hunter Skinnyblood

Photo © Hunter Skinnyblood

I’m the reason it’s taking Her so long. The reason She’s tried on everything She owns in every shade of green. If not for me, We’d have been at the bar at least an hour ago. I’m always the afterthought. It’s only when She’s ready to get dressed does She have to confront that I’m just hanging out and getting in the way. Two lonely teardrops. Waiting to see if She smothers me or sets me free.

She vacillates between a green and white polka-dotted scoop neck sundress and white shorts paired with a green Guinness t-shirt that will cover me up like the shameful family secret. There’s a knock on the door. She’s expecting Denise so She slips a wife beater over me. It’s sheer enough that I can poke through and make myself known.

Photo © Hunter Skinnyblood

Photo © Hunter Skinnyblood

Denise is in a tight green dress with a deep V-neck. I admire her open chest area and then wonder if it even counts because there’s barely anything there.
“Why aren’t you ready?”
Because she hates me.
“Ugh. I can’t figure out what to wear.”
That’s a lie.
“Let’s get stoned and then figure it out.”
Smoke and lighten up, bitch.

It feels like a complete waste of time, but I realize this will get us out the door. Denise walks into the bedroom and picks up the t-shirt.
“You have to wear this. It’s so cute.”
Don’t say that. I want to be free. I want to breathe.
“You don’t think it’s going to hold my tits together too much and make me look like an attention whore?”
Wait. That’s what it does? Wear the t-shirt.
“Who cares? It just means you’ll score more free drinks.”

Photo © Hunter Skinnyblood

Photo © Hunter Skinnyblood

She strips off the tank top and pulls the t-shirt over Her head, covering me in the process. I can’t say it’s a good feeling, but I’m cradled tightly and feel sorta safe.
“Come here,” Denise says from the kitchen. We walk in there and she’s holding scissors. “Don’t move.”
She cuts down the middle and I am free. Finally.
“Anyone who gives you shit for having nice tits—fuck ‘em. You be who you are. And today you are a party machine.”

*****

At the bar, I’m truly a star. Someone comments how full and perky I am before we even make it through the line. She blushes and Denise calls them a fucking loser.
Guys, I’m fantastic. People love me. Why is it so terrible that green beer drinking dolts want to talk about me like the rest of me doesn’t exist?

Photo © Hunter Skinnyblood

Photo © Hunter Skinnyblood

Our first and second rounds are free. I know this is my doing. A man leans over and says how fucking beautiful I am and She slaps him. I’m dumbfounded by this, but it’s not like I can argue with Her. We cut through to the other side of the bar where We run into Denise, homegirl missed everything cause she has the bladder the size of a zip drive. We lean over and ask for another green beer. It arrives with a complimentary shot of whiskey. And I’m finally feeling the spirit of St. Patrick’s Day. Here we fucking go.

A man asks if we want to go to a party. It’s in Venice. At the Canals. He says it’ll be a really good time. We’ll be sorry if we miss it. Denise doesn’t want to go. So We beg her not to be a boring twat and she gives in, almost immediately. The man dictates the address while escorting us outside. Before he leaves, he and I make eye contact—I do a little jiggle because I can’t help it, I’m a shameless flirt.

Photo © Hunter Skinnyblood

Photo © Hunter Skinnyblood

Outside, I’m bouncing all over the place while She tries to hail a cab. Someone on the patio calls out, “Hey, sugar-tits!” I’m about to cause another scene. We walk over and he hands Her a shot. She slams the shot, picks up his beer and pours it all over me. Denise drags Us away and into the cab. Denise is a fucking buzz kill.

By the time we get to the house, She is a fucking mess. She stumbles into the kitchen looking for the man and I pop out and make a special appearance. Denise puts me back where I belong while someone else puts a drink in Her hand. This is not going to end well. Some dreamboat is talking to Denise in the kitchen and We’re wandering around this party pad. She’s asking about the man, but takes a quick detour to find a bathroom. Inside, We hover over the toilet. She collapses on Her knees and pulls off the stupid green shirt. And I’m free. I’m finally fucking free. That’s when She starts barfing. When the waves of sick stop, She leans forward and the toilet seat slaps Her head.

The door opens and it’s the man. We sit up and look at him for a second, catching him as he yells, “Girl from the bar! Your friend needs you. Her tits are everywhere.” And then We pass the fuck out.

Comments are closed.