Boobification Photo Du Jour: Finished At Last!
In two short months my father, Pa Heather, will be coming to town. Although I am very pleased at this most auspicious (and long overdue) development it also means I will be spending a significant amount of time taming the clutter beast that is Chez Shitty and motivating the Mister to finish a few household projects. Like so many of his male brethren, the Mister has issues with follow-through. I try to be understanding about this (after all the man works his ass off) but after some point I have to cry foul.* Today is that day.
This is our bathroom ceiling. After living with clogged bathtub drain for FIVE YEARS (and bailing out used bath water via their toilet) our upstairs neighbors finally pressured our landlord into fixing it. This came to pass almost two years ago. And for almost two years I have had to look at this eyesore while taking a bath.
This is our bedroom. Back in 2003 I decided to give it a paint job. Not possessing the brute strength needed to move our captain’s bed by myself I asked the Mister to give me a hand. I am still waiting.
Nothing irks Miss Heather’s “type a” sensibilities more than when someone leaves something half-finished (or half-assed). So you can imagine my dismay when I encountered the following on Greenpoint Avenue today.
One year is more than enough time to finish this piece.
I thought to myself. I may not be strong enough to move furniture or tall enough to repair my own bathroom ceiling— but I am more than capable of finishing this piece of art work. So I did.
Behold the boobification of Paul Richard! I did this at around 4:00 p.m. today. I was so pleased with the result I autographed my “girls” and left them there.
Is this the end of my boobification project, you ask? Not by a long shot. After walking the streets of Brooklyn, Manhattan, and yes, Queens, my girls were starting to look a little rough. I may not have had the pleasure of being born in this fine city but I have lived here (and walked around the Upper East Side) long enough to know what to do when one’s snack trays have lost their youthful perk: buy a new pair.
*This is satire. I’m not really that angry.