Miss Dede now has a job. She is a freelance nipple piercer. Yes. She
has a career all her own.
This story started out yesterday when I wanted to get up from the couch
and make breakfast. Ms. Dede apparently did not want to move. She had
settled in while I was reading the newspaper. Or maybe she wanted the
comics and thought I was taking them. I didn't ask.
Nonetheless, as I pushed her rump, she turned around, looked at me, and
decided to nip the nearest piece of me which was -- you guessed it. My
left bosom: unprotected by corsetry or blanket, and covered by the
thinnest of linen. An inviting target, my husband says.
Now this wasn't an angry or hostile nip. There was no intent to injure.
It was merely a "giving notice" nip. Nonetheless, I now can match Janet
Jackson if I am ever asked to perform with Justin Timberlake. Only mine
are bigger.
I immediately began to bleed all over. Miss Dede, not liking the smell
of blood, gingerly hopped off the couch and away from the dripping
human, and went about her business. I, on the other hand, looked like
the victim of an ax attack, since I have learned the nipple really has a
lot of blood vessels.
So onwards went I to the Urgent Care, where I was sure that I would win
the day's prize for "most unusual reason for a doctor visit." Not so,
the doctor assured me. This being Santa Barbara, he has treated persons
who have had intentional body piercings in far more unusual regions of
the body. My nip didn't even surprise him, since he and his wife own
horses. And coincidently, some weeks ago, she went outside in her
nightgown to deal with one of the horses, and got nipped in the same
location as me. (Evidently this is high on the popularity list of
places to bite.)
So I now am slathered in Neosporin and wearing a large bandaid on my
left breast. I cannot even show my wound to friends and neighbors.
And Miss Dede? She's got a look in her eye and a quarantine sign by her
house.
It's never boring at our place.
-- DeDe's Bunny Mom
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