Do you drive a mini-van? If so, please accept my condolences. There is no excitement in driving a mini-van, except perhaps if it is loaded with a pack of screaming children. Yet our thanks go out to Tina who loaned us hers to carry a goodly portion of The Boy's motley collection of furniture down south. They do hold an incredible amount of stuff. For practicality, mini-vans rule.
We got a late start, unsuccessful at shrugging off our usual Saturday morning lethargy. Before we knew it it, it was 10:00 am and we were still in our pajamas. The van and truck were not yet packed. Not bothering to dress, we frantically sprang into action.
It happened to Wendy first. She was moving items around in the basement and a hook on one of said items snagged her right nipple,
Then it was my turn. Wendy stood in back of the van pushing as I pulled from inside to manuever parts for The Boy's bed into the van. Somehow my right nipple got caught between the bed frame and the back of the seat. Wendy kept pushing because she didn't hear me silently gasping. Gasping, pushing. More gasping, more pushing. Sounds a bit like childbirth, doesn't it? I assure you, having experienced both, having one's nipple caught in a vicelike situation is by far the more painful.
It dawned on us that brassieres are not just a mere fashion statement, they are vital to nipple safety!
The rest of the trip was non-eventful. Driving, unpacking, sipping margaritas, shopping, more unpacking. I'm pleased to report there were no further nipple injuries.