Playing House

Gay boyfriend and I had a little harmless fun today. He had a broker's open at a schmancy building south of 5th Street and another showing at a not-so-hot building, so I tagged along. The condo in the second, not-so-hot building was straight out of Rooms to Go. It had Marriott written all over it, from the stock, hotel-like, framed prints, to the flowery bedspread. It belonged to an old, Jewish woman who passed away and her child is trying to rent it out. The clients were late, so we had some time on our hands.

"Take some pictures of my boobs."

A gay man's fantasy, right?

We started out fairly normal. . .





And then he decided that I needed to roll around on the hotel bed, cancer vixen style. Unfortunately, I had a real problem taking direction and just ended up looking like an awkward girl being told to pose in retarded ways.

But, is it me or do my boobs now look almost normal? I mean, the swelling has gone down so substantially that I'm actually amazed. And this really solves my wardrobe quandary. Packing light for NYC. And those are my compression garments for the lymphedema on the left arm. Better than being mummified.

So what do we think of the new rack now that it's settled?