catheroominations

Tonight was Matte’s Christmas party and because I was going to be unveiled as the “fiancée, upgrade” I thought I should look especially hot. So I dug out my most padded bra to add that little oomph to my otherwise lacking décolletage. I was sporting some seriously slammin’ cleavage, folks. It was as if becoming an engaged woman had boosted my boobage. I knew Matte’s co-workers wouldn’t remember that part of me from before and therefore would not know I was enhanced by modern science. They’d think it was all me, baby, and later would say, “Wow! Did you see how hot Matte’s fiancée is?”

Whatever.

Who do we sit down next to at dinner? Ms. Scarlett Johansson from the neck down, that’s who. My chest was dwarfed by her natural “talents.” And boy howdy, was that bustline magnificently accessorized! She wore a gorgeous diamond necklace that I was drooling over, and noticed instantly when she walked into the room. (I doubt most of the people at the party saw that necklace, but most of them were pigs men.) I struck up a conversation with “Scarlett” to find out where she got her jewelry, but our conversation was interrupted, so I never got my answer.

Later, I suggested to Matte that he ask her more about her necklace, as if he were going to buy me one for Christmas (I want that damn necklace). Basically, I invited my hot-blooded American male to go stare closely at another woman’s ample chest while I left the room. Am I a kick-ass fiancée, or what?

When I returned from the bathroom, I asked Matte if he got any scoop from her.

He claimed to have not heard a word she said due to large amount of blood rushing to his head. <sigh>