Boobs are a strange thing. I bought a new bra at the weekend and today everything is pointy (which, bizarrely, reminds me of that poem that Steve Martin recites to Kathleen Turner in The Man With Two Brains: “Oh pointy bird….”). It’s like having play-dough stuck on my front. Today they’re pointy but tomorrow they may be more like a couple of
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Oh pointy bird,
oh pointy pointy.
Anoint my head,
anointy nointy
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