That my breasts were life savers. “Your breasts are life savers.” It happened today. Why did it happen?

My female friend, while we were in the National Gallery of Art inspecting the Roy Lichtenstein Retrospective, accidentally brushed her hand against one of my boobs. Now, that action alone doesn’t make them worthy of such a statement, but a about a month ago her hands did more than just a brushin’.

Alanna was walking down the stairs in front me, texting on her smart phone, before she turned to look up at me. All of sudden she was wobbling on the step and her hand grabbed the “closest thing that was sticking out” — my breasts. Embarrassed, she turned to go down the stairs carefully. I took this opportunity to laugh in my daze of unexpectedly being groped in the workplace.

“It’s okay, if you need to grope me in order to not fall down the stairs. Do what you need to do. Just as long as you don’t fall, because I knew that I could not catch you, had you started fall down the stairs. Or I would have gone down with you.”

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Luckily, she was laughing too. “My hand was like one of those claws in those toy machines. It just latched on!”

The next day I could not go down the stairs without laughing uncontrollably. Disaster had been avoided, but the bonding moment between “top-heavy girls,” as Alanna refers to us as, had occurred.

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