It started as a regular run to the airport. Janny and I were going to pick up Ky from her trans-Atlantic flight. We were both fairly excited -- both of us to see Ky and me to stay up past 11pm. We entered the airport and sat to watch the planes roll in. We talked of regular airport fare: waxing, Physics conferences, and menstrual cycles*. We watched the plane from Denver roll in and waited to see the passengers unload.
About fifteen minutes later into our conversation, Janny pointed out a mosquito had landed directly in my cleavage. I squashed the little beast but it was too late -- I had a good sized bite on my boob and I had accidentally allowed the dead carcass of the pest drop into my bra. We had a good laugh but then the international arrival gate opened and the bug was forgotten. We moved to stand in front of the doors.
As we stood there waiting, the flight from Cowtown arrived. They mulled about and waited for luggage as Janny and I thoroughly enjoyed ourselves in silly conversation. Suddenly, I clasped my chest.
Me: My mosquito bite is so itchy! I put my hand discretely down my shirt and scratched. And I just realized I have a mosquito in my bra.
Janny: You're going to be confused later. 'Why do I have a dead bug in my bra?'
Me: At least that's not the weirdest thing I've found in my bra. One day, I had to think 'When did I eat crackers?' Chuckling, we stood there - me with my hand down my cleavage and Janny scratching absentmindedly at her wrist.
Janny: I got a mosquito bite on my wrist and now my watch is irritating it. Janny moved her watch to her right arm instead. Why don't people wear their watches on their right arms?
Me: You wear your watch on whichever arm isn't your dominant one. That way, you can be doing something with your right arm... I make a motion with my right hand as though stirring a pot... and you can look at your watch without interrupting. I demonstrate further. See? Try it!
She did and we giggled insanely about stirring our imaginary pots in public and the people who would be so confused as two why two women (who looked as though they were not with anyone) were stirring imaginary pots and giggling.
Then I looked up to see this distinguished, older man with silver hair staring as us. He looked vaguely familiar, but I thought it was because he reminded me of a friend's uncle. I leaned over to Janice and whispered non-too-quietly.
Me: Do I know that guy from somewhere?
Janny: Yeah, that's Brian Williams.
Janny: The sports anchor from CTV who covers all the Olympics. He's been staring at us since you announced you had a mosquito in your bra.
Me: Huh. Do you think he would sign my boob? Just above my mosquito bite?
Janny almost died from embarrassment and begged me not to make further fools of us**. I refrained from rushing him and asking for his autograph. Had I, this would have been more embarrassing, because in my head I kept calling him Brian Wilson who is someone else all together.
We tried to contain our silliness for the next ten minutes. Finally, Brian and his TSN counterpart gathered their luggage and left. I took my opportunity and ran to the seat where he had been. I plopped down and announced, Now my jeans are covered in Brian Williams butt germs! I will never wash these pants again! I figured I should be able to get at least $13 on Ebay.
When I got home, I told The Guy about my brush with fame. He told me I might be on the news now. As he drifted off to sleep he said, This just in, Bronwyn has a mosquito bite on her boob.
*What? What do you talk about in public?
** I complied, not like the time that Janny and Lyn were punching products at Safeway and high fiving magazines. I'm classy that way.