'love to eat turkey like a good boy should'

"What'cha thankful for this Thanksgiving, dear?"

"Breasts."

blank stare

"Really? That's seriously what you're thankful for this year?"

"Not just breasts. Big breasts. Big, white, juicy breasts. And not just big, white, juicy breasts. No. Big, white, juicy breasts that need to be stuffed."

"Um, we're probably not talking about turkey, are we?"

So, to recap - My husband is thankful for breasts. Though he didn't confirm that whole turkey query, I assume he meant my breasts and not those of the 17 pound Butterball my mom will prepare lovingly for us on Thanksgiving.

And me? Well, I'm thankful to be married to a man who has the hilarious sense of humor one typically finds in the average 14 year old boy. This is good, since I giggle at the word "penis" from time to time. And "fart." This, of course, makes me your average 12 year old boy.

Your average 12 year old boy with succulent, pale boobs.

(You've missed the boob talk, haven't you? Eh, it's out there in a lot of stuff, ladies and gentlemen. But you're welcome. Just think of me as your Thanksgiving miracle)