And my nipples, damn them—if they could fire sexy-man-snaring missiles, they would. They’re already aimed right. But knowing my nipples, they’d misfire and I’d have to explain to Judy’s now-former boss that I’m not hitting on her, it was a misfire, and yes, she’s a perfectly lovely lady worthy of being hit on, but middle-aged women who wear Christmas sweaters in July aren’t my type.
