August 16th, 2011

vacationland-signRecently Mr. J and I traveled to the state of Maine for the first time. As we crossed the bridge from New Hampshire into Maine (via turnpike) we were met with a sign, “Maine – Vacationland:

Then we went past a steady stream of “Don’t’s”

Don’t drink and drive

Buckle Up or get a ticket

Don’t text and drive

Don’t park or stop your vehicle in any traffic lane or bridge

U-Turns at any point are prohibited

Pedestrians are not permitted

Hitchhikers are not permitted

After about a dozen signs of what wasn’t permitted I wasn’t feeling to Vacation-y at all.

Laughing at the crazy anal nature of their warning signs we continued on to our destination, Portland. It was the final destination of our 10-day sojourn of Vermont, New Hampshire and, now into Maine.

The temperature in Portland that day was 110 degrees: horribly out of season for Maine. As we drove into Portland, the historical district was a wonderful display of cute shops in brownstone form with narrow cobble stone streets.

As we came to our first T-junction into the historic port district I slammed on the brakes, mouth dropped open in disbelief. There, passing in front of our rental car, was a woman.

Topless.

Now, I get that it was hot. Seriously I do. But allow me to assure you that she was doing herself no favors being topless.

After making sure I hadn’t hit Ms. Boobsy-McBoobs, I turned to Mr. J and said, “Did you see that?”

“How could I miss it?” he replied. “I think my corneas have just burned out.”

I mean – seriously: this girl would have been better served to pull her boobs up and tie them around her neck like a halter top….yes, I mean a halter top – behind her NECK.

And she wasn’t old, mind you. She was way the heck younger than me. (See previous blog on my sad aging saga.)

“Should we follow her?” I asked.

“What on earth for?” Mr. J. asked.

“Because I know you’re a boob man,” I responded.

I won’t relay what he said next.

So…………let me get this saggy. I mean, straight: I can’t make a U-turn, drink and drive, text and drive or stop on the road but I can walk around Maine topless??

Of course, I do what any 45-year-old female would do (Here would be the place to stop reading if you get squeamish):

I go back to the hotel and strip off to the waist. I turn: left to right, right to left. Yep. As I thought: my boobs are way-the-hell less droopy than hers were.

I won’t include a picture of what happened next.

Let’s just say I embraced my Maine-dom. It was freeing!

The thing I know for sure: I was much less droopy than the girl. Given the surface mass her droopiness must have covered in the 100+ degrees and probably 85% humidity, that girl should have kept her top on!