Any dream will do

I'm not. She made me do it. Err, I mean, write it. Now where this all begins is about a year ago. I met her at work and she used to be my cabmate for a couple of months till she decided to bring her own car to work. Of course, the unsaid part of this statement is that she is too lazy to wake up early in the morning to come by the office cab :o). And one day, another cabmate was telling yet another cabmate, rather animatedly, about how well-endowed or flat-chested another of our species was or something to that effect. To which said girl said, and I quote: "Uh, they're called boobs."

Wouldn't you know it! Yes, it was love at first sight. We went on to become fast friends then on. Both of us amply endowed every inch of our frames, we couldn't exactly remain strangers for long. For simplicity's sake, we shall refer to her as Divslexia or D for short.

Yes, she is the typo queen. Read her comment when she comments for proof if you don't believe me. We have almost ditto taste in men - straight or gay. Josh Holloway or Jack MacFarland. We spend most of the time discussing how hot Josh is and how we would TOTALLY do Jack. We've also decided that in a couple of years' time, if we are still unhitched, we're both buying a one-way ticket to the Amazon. Big women are worshipped there, if you didn't know it already. 

Hope this is background enough to understand what I'm coming to. D comes over to my desk last week and asks me to check her work for the day 'cause her computer's hanging. Which it does, almost every day. I think it resents the fact that she commutes by herself everyday and doesn't depend on office conveyance. To me, it's a Godsend. Sorry, I prefer riding of another kind altogether. I digress again. (I promise we shall come back to the last line later.) So, she comes over and pokes me on my right arm. I have Popeye arms, and I don't exactly eats me spinach all the time, toot toot, so it hurt and I told her so. Only, I worded it wrong. I asked her why she was feeling me up.

To which she replied, and I quote: "Uh, for that, I would have to be completely sloshed, with half a bottle of vodka in me, blah blah and stoned out of my wits blah blah..." Okay, that wasn't verbatim. But you get the picture.

To which, I replied, and I quote: "Uh, D, I love you, but even then, I wouldn't..."

There. She didn't take umbrage, but she wanted me to write this, because she wanted to say what she wants to say in the comments box.

Sit back and watch the fun unfurl.

End note: Divzy, baby, me apple, you orange. Wait, I don't have small hips. Okay, me apple and pear, you orange. There is no way in hell we can be gay. What with cups of joy running over, and flunges everywhere. Both of us would be dominatrices then. But give up chicken for me and I promise to rethink :D.

Man, I can almost see Brokeback Mountain(s) 2 shaping up :D:D:D:D:D:D:D:D:D.

Update:  D has told me she will not be commenting. That comment about chicken made her chicken. Cluck, cluck, she went, at lunch today and said her sweet nothings were reserved for my ears and my ears alone. Erm, I still have to teach her where the ear is on the human body, though.

She says she's practising Gandhigiri :P. Pipsqueak!