I had a mammogram this week.  I have to get one every year; though mine are small there is still room for fibroids.  My tech went so far as to comment on them, saying they’re “perfectly perky.”  Well, she said that after laughing aloud at the thought of getting my A’s to stay up on the shelf of the machine.  After getting a good chuckle she stuck on a set of stunning nipple markers, which are stickers with silver balls that resemble starter earrings.

Tech:  “Sorry we’re all out of fringe.”

Me:  “Don’t worry, I have some at home.”

I guess she was right to laugh.  The first time on the shelf they slipped right out.  The intense squeezing actually slung-shot them back towards my body.  The second time she got a couple ribs on board.  I’m guessing as anchors.

Me:  “Um, excuse me, is it okay that you have bone in there too?”

Tech:  “Don’t worry they won’t break.”

Squeeze, squeeze, squeezing harder.  Shelf lifting… on my toes to avoid bosoms being ripped clean off.  More squeezing.  Crunch.

Me:  “What was that?”

Tech:  “Just a little bone.  Alright, just one more squeeze.”

Me:  “Fine, but I think milk might come out.”

Tech:  “Oh, are you breast feeding?”

Me:  “No.”

After flattening my boobs into pancakes, I felt like a cartoon victim of a falling piano or anvil.  I patiently waited for them to snap back, or for an animated squirrel to come along, stick a tube in and pump them back up.  Nothing, no squirrels or skunks or other well meaning rodents came to my rescue, so I shoved them back into my sports bra and went to wait for my ultrasound.

While in the waiting room I noticed a woman, not a day under 100, shakily stick her nipple markers in a plastic baggy and into her pocket book.  Either there’s one kinky grandpa with a bottle of Viagra awaiting her return, or she’s like my grandma and takes everything.  “You never know when it could come in handy.”  Well it’s true, you never know when you’ll be at a coffee shop and they’ll run out of sweetener and you’ll need 1000 stolen Sweet ‘n Lows.  You never know when you’ll be super hungry and those rolls from a bread basket that are now stale and linty from sitting in your handbag, will really hit the spot.  Especially, when you have trouble chewing anything harder than soup.  And if your boobs hang down to your knees, you might need a some assistance finding your nipples.

Whether you can find your nipples or not, don’t forget to get your mammogram!

As always, if you want more, go to Suburban Jungle.

When you walk into a Starbucks it’s a little like entering another country.  Some of the language is “Italianish” and the rest is completely made up, yet universal to all citizens.  When you visit Starbucks for the first time you might be overwhelmed by the cultural gap and the language barrier.  You see, Starbucks drinkers have an acute understanding of this made up ordering system, the terminology, how to conjugate the verbs, and the proper phrasing of the request i.e. size first, then special requirements, then drink type.

The employees, or should I call them caffeine scientists, are trained to do far more than make a cappuccino.  My barista knows the make, model, and color of my car and when he sees it drive up, he starts my drink.  He deduces that if I’m wearing golf or workout clothes I will require my usual to be iced and quickly dumps it and has the appropriate drink ready by the time I hit the door.  He is keenly aware of my standard approach speed and if I seem to be ambling he’ll throw in an extra shot.

But, sometimes even I am shocked by how intricate requests can get.  I think some of these drinkers actually believe they have learned another language and revel in this false sense of intelligence.

Today the woman in front of me ordered a tall 2 splenda, extra dry, machiatto with extra foam, on the fly.

Extra dry? Really? “What is extra dry… just beans?”

“No, it’s more froth.”

“Didn’t she imply that when she said extra foam?”

“No the frothiness actually refers to the consistency of the foam.”

Why do I feel like I’m having a conversation with NASA? And yet, who am I to talk? I know that a standard latte is made at 160°, which would be bad enough, except that I also know that I prefer mine at 150°. My barista who also writes, Jenny from the block on every cup, actually figured this out by watching my drinking ritual. He said, “I noticed you seem to wait about 8 minutes for your coffee to cool. I think the problem is an over sensitive pallet and I suggest you drop the temp about 10 degrees. Look, this is just a hypothesis, I will investigate further.” Soon this will be something you can major in, like criminal investigation or a show, “CSI Starbucks.”

“Everyone step away from the mocha, CSI unit (Coffee Scene Investigation) is here. There is nothing to see here, please disperse. What’s seems to be the problem, ma’am?”

Disgruntled Customer:  “My mocha is not rich enough, and it’s too wet. I specifically said grande, 18 pump, extra fat, mildly damp, 157° Mochachokaccino with extra whip that is dolloped in the shape of a pygmy monkey.”

The area around the cup is taped off and a bit is spilled into a petri dish and run out of the store to a mobile CSI van. The maverick of the team fearlessly swipes his finger through the java then smells and licks it, as if it’s cocaine. One more lick for good measure and an extra jolt. “Well your first problem is this is only 17 pumps. It’s also a mere 142°, which if my calculations are correct mean 7 minutes ago when it was made it was 155°, and not a degree more. Your other problem was in the call. The cashier/Mayor should know not to call a whip sculpted in the shape of anything other than the Starbuck’s mermaid goddess on our logo, who we in the biz affectionately call Flo.”

Disgruntled Customer: “Like flow of the coffee or the ocean?”

“No, like cash flow. Look, we’re gonna take this downtown to the lab, but just for the record Cappy Joe, or Cuppa Joe as we like to call him, is the best. He’ll have this coffee and a full report back to you by day’s end. Please enjoy a maximum of 2 hours free internet access in the mean time. And don’t forget to try one of our new hot breakfast sandwiches.”

As always enjoy more of Jenny from the blog at Suburban Jungle