Not for the Scrapbook...More for the Record Books

I remember as a child that dairy cows with chronic mastitis are "put out to pasture", so to speak. It really means the end for these girls, partly because I think they choose to become McPatties instead of spending nights without sleep posting on a blog about milk production. That and the hooves probably prevent typing.

Today I obsessed a little more about milk and milking and everything remotely dairy in my life. The ratio is now 1:1 for coworkers who have seen my...ummm...parts. I have pumped and watched the World Cup with a room full of coworkers, had accidental meetings with them and had people in for a viewing. And the most disturbing part is that I'm barely disturbed. And it's not a whacked out dream, not a harassment suit and it certainly is not for money for the bus. I'm just showing my boobs to my coworkers.

Now I get to paint them purple. I am very sad that Frosh weeks is done.

And it's pretty McFunny.