Post Traumatic Bosom Disorder

Recently I was the victim of a most frightful and emotionally scarring incident – but before I divulge anything, I must insist on your solemn oath that you will not repeat any of what I am about to say to another living soul.  Only you, my treasured 60 or so followers on this blog, those connected to my Facebook feed, my Twitter feed, my LinkedIn account and, well pretty much the entire Internet can ever know of this… but no one else beyond that, do you understand?  Good, then I shall proceed….

A few days ago I attended the birthday party of a very dear friend of mine.  Yes, I have friends; there’s no need to look so surprised, you sarcy minx.  Of course I made a cake.  It was a miniature chocolate and blueberry cake, which is my friend’s favourite:
1234793_10151786323812696_280011737_n copyLooks quite nice, doesn’t it?  Little did I realise as I commenced to slice and serve this delectable little sweetmeat of the horror that was awaiting to engulf me.

Sitting at a table not far away from where my friends and I were making merry, (yes, you read that right; ‘friends’ plural, so shut up), there was a couple, a man and a lady who were quite plainly enjoying a romantic canoodle.  My birthday friend decided that it would be nice if she offered a slice of her cake to this couple, because she’s quite generous of spirit.  The couple accepted and I happily served them each a small but rich slice.  They were both quite delighted by the taste sensation that danced in their mouths, particularly the lady.  It was when my friend revealed that I was the genius behind the creation of this cake that the trouble really started.

Without warning the lady stood up.  She marched straight towards where I was sitting, just minding my own business, not hurting anyone (for a change).  And then she clutched me to her bosom, quite literally.  She gave me the biggest, most painful bear hug I have ever experienced.  What made it worse was that I was not expecting such a thing from a perfect stranger.  I was sitting down and she was standing up, and when she drew me towards her, my head nestled unavoidable into her front lady lumps area.

I dared not move nor breath.  I was too paralysed with fear even to think.  All I could do was play dead and hope that the ordeal would end quickly, either with her letting go of me or with the sweet release of death; either outcome was acceptable to me in that moment.

At last I was released and gratefully I filled my starved lungs with air.  I was left quite shaken by the trauma of this fleshly onslaught and I have since been debilitated by a mortal fear of boobs.  Now you know why I have sworn you to secrecy.  If the word were to get out that I can be defeated with boobs, then my ambition to rule the world with cake domination will be thwarted before it even begins.

Oh, just in case any of you are tempted to sell me out by revealing my secret weakness to those who would stand against me, just be aware that I am currently working on the development of an anti-boob deflector shield.  Unfortunately it will take some time before this technology is perfected.  However, my legion of deadly ninja baboon bodyguards are almost at the end of their training cycle and will be ready to be deployed very soon.  So just watch it, okay?

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