but nah, if i jumped up and down as often as i mistype...well, i'm not convinced that's even possible, but if i did, im sure that would be classed as some kind of seizure'
'besides you obviously haven't seen my breasts (or "'"pimples"' as my classmates at school used to, kindly call them) . They've got slightly bigger in latter years, mind, just big enoufgh to earn me fame at the parcel sorting office where i worked, by dint of me accidentally squashing my left breast (the bigger one) between an extremely heavy, rounded, rolling parcel (containing a dumb-bell weight of all things) and the rigid metal side of the carousel. The injury was swiftly and easily fixed by application of an ice-pack. My reputation , ofc. was never fixed. The story ran through the (incredibly expansive) shopfloor like wildfire.
Lucky that i'm used to being a laughing-stock. i don't even mind. As Melville observed:
“However, a good laugh is a mighty good thing, and rather too scarce a good thing; the more's the pity. So, if any one man, in his own proper person, afford stuff for a good joke to anybody, let him not be backward, but let him cheerfully allow himself to spend and to be spent in that way. And the man that has anything bountifully laughable about him, be sure there is more in that man than you perhaps think for.”