Kids are picky eaters. They like McDonald’s, but they want their hamburger without the yunyin (or onion). I was a big fan of chicken clucklets (or cutlets), and still am. In fact, after my 9 years as I vegetarian, I broke into eating anything but organ meat… and it began with a chicken cutlet, nugget, same dif. The chicken cutlets I’m now in love with cannot be consumed. They’re add on breasts. Silicone cups you slide into your bra… there’s even some nipple mimicking going on.
Now, most men don’t know women tape their tits together. Some bras just don’t cut it, and if you’re backless, well, it’s all about the surgical tape. Back to the cutlets. Do I need them? No. But are they fun, hells yeah. Turn my c’s into d’s… delightfuls. I bring them out only on special occasions. Like okay, you’re on a date with a new boy and you know he’s not going home with you, it’s safe to wear the cutlets… Certain dresses, tops, occasions where you want to be boobalicious. Cutlet Calling.
A word of warning on the cutlets… Don’t get caught running late, in a sweat and whirl to get downtown. Cause running late, means sweat. Running late means slippery when wet. So I’m out, and someone drops an earring. I lean down to help the girl out, and my cutlet slides out, raw. Tripping to clutch her earring, I actually step on my tit for the night. Oh dear god, did anyone notice? Hells yeah. What’s a girl to do? This isn’t exactly a Lee Press On Nail. I pulled a fcuking Julia Child. Picked up the chicken, patted it off, and slipped that sucker back into place… with a smile. Then I drank a bottle of wine.