Anyway, due to my resemblance to her dearly departed, actual or imagined, I have taken over some of ol' Harvey's former duties on and off for the past few years. Now if you're a sick, immature bastard like I am, you're thinking, "He's banging the old lady?" No. I am not banging Vivian Eisenberg, age 77....but on Sunday afternoon I came about as close to it as I'd like to ever come. I usually just change a light bulb or two, get something for her off a shelf she can't reach, or sometimes I run to the post office for her to get stamps for her "correspondence." The fact that she refers to letter writing as "correspondence" amuses me enough that I go get her the stamps when she asks.
When Viv called me on Sunday afternoon to come over and help her out with something, I internally sighed, and said, "No problem. Be right over." I threw on my sneakers, and went down to her floor, thinking I'd probably have to move her coffee table while she mopped up, or something. I knocked on her door, and she answered with her arm in a sling, wearing only a slip and a bra. I immediately looked away, embarrassed, but entered, trying not to make eye contact. I asked her what happened to her arm. She had taken a fall, and broken it, and she needed me to close her "brassiere" for her. Now, it wouldn't have been so bad if I just had to hook the thing together from behind. I'd zipped her dresses up for her in the past, and I survived that. This was just a bit creepier, but I figured I'd do it, get back to my apartment, and pretend this never happened. There was only one thing preventing me from doing that, though... And it wasn't a little thing either. In her haste to get the bra on, Vivian forgot to put her left breast in the cup. There I stood utterly skeeved out, and there her left tit hung all the way down to her waste. I kept looking away, as she retold the story of her fall and her broken arm.
DO YOU NOT SEE THAT YOUR TRIPLE Z-CUP, 77 YEAR OLD LEFT TIT IS ON THE LOOSE?, I wanted to scream. My mind raced.
Should I say something? Why isn't SHE saying something? Did I enter another dimension in which I was the lead in a twisted version of "The Graduate," and Mrs. Eisenberg was trying to seduce me with her gargantuan, droopy left breast?
She was an attractive woman back in her day. I could always tell from the pictures she showed me that Harvey was a lucky guy, but I never knew how lucky. I'm sure before gravity took over, Harvey probably had some good times with Viv's fun bags, but those days were long gone, and I knew it was time for me to be gone as well.
"I'm not really good with these things," I nervously told her. "Let me see if I can get someone else to help you," I continued, as I ran out.
"It's just a hook," she said, as I walked out, leaving her and her mammoth mammary hanging, both literally and figuratively.
I knocked on her neighbor's door, explained the situation to the woman who answered, and she graciously agreed to help.
I made the mistake of telling Shmegs the story. He's now emailed me at least a dozen pictures since Sunday, each with the subject: "Does this make you horny?--Vivian."
The least objectionable one is below:
This woman has absolutely nothing on Viv. The fact that I know that makes me wanna shower.
