Erica Lucke DeanWriters. 

We’re a strange bunch. Get a group of us together on a social network and the conversations run the gamut from pregnancy symptoms and Christmas lights all the way to Santa’s fertility (don’t ask…you really don’t want to know).

You do? You really want to know?

Ok…so one writer tells us she asked Santa to bring her a healthy pregnancy, and another writer says, “don’t you think your husband should be the one getting you pregnant…not Santa?” Oh sure, she was being funny. But the next thing you know there is an entire conversation revolving around the idea of Santa getting someone pregnant on Christmas Eve.  The religious ramifications notwithstanding, this was a funny conversation.  I mean…how old is Santa? Wouldn’t he need a heaping dose of Viagra to get his North Pole to work?

But I digress.

This was a bunch of women. We don’t really get into the dirty stuff. Lela Gwenn by Matt Slentz

Ok, I’m lying. We do. But the whole talk of pregnancy and the sticky gooey realities of that were too much for some of the single girls in the bunch, so we changed the topic to something much more demure.

Boobs.

A writer who would not be namedBut like I said…this was a bunch of women. We’re supposed to be beyond the childish games played by men.  We don’t get into a pissing match. We don’t pull out the ruler and compare dimensions!

Yep…lying again.  We totally do.

What started out as a fun exchange about boobs turned into a photo fest where we posted pictures of ourselves in various stages of exposure.  Nothing racy mind you…we’re writers after all. We have a deep-seated need to leave something to the imagination.  Basically, below the waist was out of bounds.  Everything above was fair game. 

Ciara BallintyneI’m kidding.  We just compared cleavage.  But the singular guy in our little tit-a-tit was browsing the boob pictures like a kid checking out Christmas lights displays.  I’m pretty sure I could actually see his mooning face via his comments. “OH. MY. GOD.” And, “AMAZING.” Oh and, “It really is Christmas!”

It’s like he was following the bouncing ball and singing along to a song in his own head… “Silver bells…Silver bells…It’s Christmastime, hey look…titties!”

Guys.  They really are pretty basic, aren’t they? You just have to follow one simple rule to get by…in case of emergency, flash boobs!

 Until the next time…I’ll be working on a challenge blog! Topics anyone?