I'm FAMOUS! And I have breasts.

IIFs, I am stuttering and shaking. I'm famous. I'M FAMOUS!

Okay, I'm not, because this lovely lady respected my privacy, but I (me! WOO!) inspired this post on SheWalks today.

(Note to k: I know your blog address so well that I can type the whole thing out from memory. Just sayin', is all.)

And, BREASTS! (I know you just skipped down until here, so go back and read the above, because I'm famous and I want you to know.) Done? Okay. Here is an excerpt from one of my favorite new blogs:

"If you want to date me, you have to like breasts.

Think about it like this. Let’s say you don’t like dogs. And let’s say I have, oh, a Chihuahua. That’s okay, right? I mean, he’s small, we can work around him. The Chihuahua can take a nap in the corner or something and you probably won’t even know he’s there, as long as he doesn’t do the yappy running-around-in-circles thing.

But now pretend I have a Doberman. That’s a little different, isn’t it? There’s no ignoring the Doberman. If the Doberman’s on the bed, well, that’s a lot of Doberman. It’s not like you’ll overlook him. And, I mean, when we go out. Other guys will notice the Doberman, too. They’ll be like, Nice Doberman. Because people NOTICE a Doberman. You don’t overlook a Doberman."

Excerpted from Dobermans, by star firstbaseman.