How to stop a conversation with your boobs.

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One of the “joys” of living in the worlds smallest home is that communication is quite easy. The boys tend to love yelling at me from the other end of the house and I find myself answering them, in yelling form.

“Mum, where are my hearing aid batteries?” Yelled from the kitchen while I am in the bathroom.

“On the fridge!” I yell back….

“What?” yelled back, because hearing aid battery is dead….

“ON. THE. FRIDGE!” pumping up the decibels.

“WHAT?”

And then I crack the shits and go into the kitchen and point to them.

Mr. Woog flat out refuses to have a conversation in this way. He will ignore me hollering at him from another room only to say, when I come into the room to repeat my request “I will not have a conversation with you unless I can see you…” which is probably fair enough, because the hollering can be very, very annoying.

Last night, I was in the bedroom getting ready to go out to a book launch. I was dressed in black pants and black boots and nothing else, as I stared into my wardrobe working out what I was going to wear on top. Did I mention that I hate all of my clothes? Well, I do. I want to throw a match on the lot of it. Anyway, I was staring in, willing something to jump out at me when Horatio started hollering at me from the dining room, where he was eating his dinner.

“Mum! How do you save something onto a USB stick?”

“What?” I yelled back…

Thus began a hollering conversation began. Eventually I cracked the shits and marched into the dining room with my hands on my hips. Sans bra and top. Now, my boobs are neither pert or small. They are 42 year old big swingers.

“What do you want?” As I stood there, shoulders back with everything chestical on display.

Horatio looked up. Now to try and describe in words his reaction will be hard. But I will try. First up, he dropped his fork. Then his jaw, complete with spaghetti dropped. There was a moment of silence, I do believe his heart had stopped for a moment before the body of the reaction exploded.

“MUM OH MY GOD WHAT ARE YOU DOING JESUS!”

“I will not have a conversation with you unless I can see you…” I told him calmly.

This reminded me of the time that my nephews were sitting at the breakfast table without tops on, when Mrs. Ryan, my sister wandered in. On seeing her boys shirtless, she made a cup of tea, took off her nightie and sat down to join then, just in her undies. She proved her point that shirts must be worn when eating.

After Horatio recovered and I put a top on, I tried to save his assignment onto a USB stick. I wasn’t sure how to go about it, so I yelled at Mr. Woog, who was in his man cave, to come and help. My request went ignored and then my cab turned up.

The End.

Boobs. Why do they cause such a reaction?

Do you go nuddie in from of your kids?