Noah has done a lot, what with loading all those animals onto an ark and whatnot to save mankind from God's attempt to flood the world and drown out evil. But now Noah can add this to his list: he saw my right boob. Oh, and so did, probably, 27 or 29 other people.
(Insert me cowering in shame, here).
So my family, The BF and I spent Sunday at "America's Largest Waterpark." That's Noah's Ark to anyone within a four million-mile radius of Wisconsin Dells. Anyhow, we're going about our happy business - waterslides, people-watching, staring in eager anticipation as The Sister's glow-in-the-dark skin morphs into an alarming shade of burnt... completely unaware that in a matter of minutes, my right boob would be bared before all.
And that's when we decided to ride the Flash Flood. More fun than the actual ride (which consists of a boat full of people careening into a flood of water that sends a wall of water hurtling at steam engine force into a group of gawkers on a bridge) is being a gawker on the bridge.
Now enter Mom, Dad, The BF, The (very pink) Sister and I gawking on the bridge. We're ready, boy. This hurricane force water ain't got nothin' on us. That's right. It went something like that. So we're hangin' onto the vertical bars of the bridge with a death grip. Mom's hiding behind Dad. I'm fully prepared to dodge the storm by ducking behind The Sister. And then it hits.
I, in true pansy fashion, ducked behind The Sister. Mom, who is about as tall as my now infamous boob-to-the-right (4'11" and three-quarters, to be exact), would've been half way to Minnesota if she wasn't clutching Dad, who as was water-logged as the rest of us. Somehow The BF escaped without incident, or even a splash of water, but that's an unsolved mystery.
So anyway, in our post "we-just-got-socked-with-a-wave-of-water-so-hard-it-may-take-eight-or-so-minutes-for-our-brains-to-stop-rattling" glee, we meandered off the bridge with the rest of the sopping wet gawkers. La-dee-da, we're all wet, wasn't that fun? And then OHMYGOD.
My right boob. Is out. It's out in public. It popped right out of it's triangular haven. Do you see it? It's my boob. Oh my GOD. All hail the right boob because, you know, IT'S JUST HANGIN' OUT THERE FOR ALL TO SEE.
Instantly, I dive-bombed The BF and took cover. He probably thought I was crazy because, well, little did he know 4,200 strangers just SAW MY RIGHT BOOB. Out. My boob. Just there. All out there in the open.
Mom, who witnessed Operation Recover My Flailing Boob, stopped dead in her tracks. And laughed. Hysterically. So hysterically, in fact, I think some of the gawkers (who now also gawked at my wandering boob) thought she was having a heart attack. She literally doubled over in laughter. Followed by The Sister, who was still sunburnt. The BF still thought I was crazy, and I was too busy trying to climb into his body and hide for the rest of my life to explain.
And then there was Dad, who was smart, and decided on Father's Day that, dear God, that bare, bouncing boob does not belong to my daughter. And he just kept on walking.