Note: The following column was first published in July 1999.
WASHINGTON, D.C. — I was the last one to arrive at the bachelor party, and the conversation had already turned to breasts.
"I am such an idiot," one of the party-goers said, literally smacking himself in the forehead with the heel of his hand. "I have the breast pump in the car. And Amy is going to need it."
There followed a brief discussion as to whether Amy could borrow Sandy's breast ...
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