My favorite customer came through the day-job today, by which I mean the customer who I would most like to bang.

Thought I saw somebody making eyes at me from down a crowded aisle, but eyes on up was about all of them I could see. Huh. Turn the corner to avoid the traffic, and from behind me comes a conspicuously direct and unnecessary request for assistance at the usually manned service desk on the other side of the shop. My response was affirmative, but considerably less than enthusiastic. I took a couple steps in that direction before I figured I should turn around and make eye contact with this person- oh shit. I still got it... "it" being a total lack of game.

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I've only talked to her two or three times previously, and I probably haven't seen this woman in at least a year, long enough to have kinda forgotten about her. But damn, I remembered quick. We get a lot of gorgeous women in the shop, but for my taste anyway, amongst the repeat customers, she's the champ.

I am, of course, happily married. If any of you knew my wife, you would not only understand but wholeheartedly endorse me going to hell if I ever did her wrong like that. They would invent hell for me if necessary. But we're not exactly heading into Penthouse Forum territory here anyway...

We start chatting as she fishes for the keys she needs copied. It was like 70 degrees out today, and she was wearing a nice skimpy dress. As she was digging through her purse, it appeared as if a boob wanted to pop out. Normally I would casually avert my gaze, because I'm a fucking gentleman. But at this point in our blooming relationship, I felt like I had gotten the unspoken clearance to be present, if not excited, for any of her boobs which should just coincidentally cross my path.

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So I'm just hanging out there in old married guy heaven, waiting on a boob, when she realizes she forgot her keys. And they were her house keys. She speculated on the extreme likelihood that she was now locked out of her pad and would be unable to retrieve her keys and return today. She took off to handle her biz (shouting to somebody with an androgynous name on the way out, as if her relationship status is of any matter to me, as if gender is any indication of any of that in this town), and my most cherished few minutes of small-talk in who knows how long went up in flames before we got past the weather.

AND, no boobs fell out.