You've Got to Love Formals

I work for an organization that throws a lot of parties. A lot. Formal ones. Ones that people pay a lot of money to attend.

The best part, obviously, is that I get to attend these functions for free-- if I "work" them. "Working" generally includes greeting people as they enter, running some of the behind the scenes stuff, etc. It's a very small price to pay for a fabulous three-course meal, an open bar and a night of dancing.

So I shouldn't be surprised that Overshare likes to work these events too, right?

We had one such event this past weekend.

I was teamed up with Toolshed. Remember him? And don't forget this one.

So we're standing at our station, doing our job, when Overshare walks up. (Obviously having abandoned her post, fifteen minutes into the night.) Keep in mind that Toolshed and I have a rather prominent position in the room-- a lot of guests milling around us, interacting with us, just generally within earshot of us.

Overshare, to Toolshed: Do I have Bubble Boob?
Toolshed: Huh?
Overshare, louder: Do I have Bubble Boob?
Toolshed: I'm confused.
Anonymous: No Overshare, you don't have Bubble Boob. Aren't you supposed to be working in the other room?
Overshare: Well, I can't work if I'm worried about Bubble Boob, can I?
Toolshed, in anguish apparently: I don't even know what that is.
Anonymous: Overshare? Are you going to explain it?
Overshare: It's when your bra is too tight, causing your boobs to bubble over the top.
Toolshed: Why would you wear a bra that's too tight?
Overshare: It's hard to find a bra that fits this rack, ok??!?