I was hot, sweat trickled a streak of grime along the crevices of my wattle and pooled in the hollow below my collar bones.
I stripped down to my undershirt and sank into my chair. My daughter, Clare, and her daughter, Hazel, joined me in the family room. The baby slid to the floor, walked hand over hand along the couch and over to my chair. I picked her up and she snuggled in for a hug. She stopped, mid-snug, sat up straight and looked at me with deep admiration.
"What's up with you, baby girl?" I asked.
Hazel leaned in and grabbed my boob. "Oooooh," she said.
"What the hell is she doing?" I asked.
"I think she just realized Grandma has boobs," Clare said. She snorted back a laugh.
Hazel looked at her mom and let out a string of baby babble, held my boob with one hand and pointed at it with the other. The kid didn't need words, there was no doubt about what she said. Her life evolved around her mom's boobs, now, here came Grandma, fully equipped.
Hazel cupped, poked, pinched, laughed, and chatted my boob up. She looked at me like I was Super Grandma. My daughter quit trying not to laugh and just let 'er rip. Hazel leaned in and snuggled my boobs, mashed them together and bounced them around. I have to admit, I laughed too.
"They're not going to do you any good, kiddo." I said. Then I put my shirt back on. Gotta admit, I was a little creeped out. I haven't been felt up like that since I was 25.
