So this week I did a keynote address at the Texas Conference for Women. The other keynote speakers were all uber-professional and awesome, and one was a nobel peace laureate, and they all said very important, inspirational things. And then I got on the stage and panicked and decided to do a reading from my book about the time I got my arm stuck up a cow’s vagina. In my defense though, I’m me, so it wasn’t like they didn’t know they were getting into, and surprisingly few people actually walked out. I suspect the few who did walk out probably just had cow vagina phobia (I feel ya, sisters) but then later I realized it might have been for another reason altogether. Very sweet friends sent me photos of myself on stage and some of them made me look almost professional:
Pretend I was saying something profound here and not just explaining how easy it is to get your arm broken in a cow vagina.
Then my friend Laura sent me pictures from the back. After the fifth one I had noticed they all had one similarity:
Do you see it?
You might not notice from the picture, but after looking at a series of them all I can see is what appears to be my right nipple escaping from my shirt.
No shit. It's in EVERY shot.
And I know it’s not my nipple because I’m about to turn 40 and my nipples weren’t that perky even when I was 20. In fact, I’d almost be proud if that was an accidental nip-slip, because who wouldn’t be impressed with nipples that are so perky they seem to be reading the book along with me? Answer: Professional conference attendees staring at a possible wonky nipple during a 20-minute diatribe about cow vaginas.
Let me assure you, it was not my nipple. I suspect it was shadow of the circular microphone on the podium, but now I’m worried that thousands of women think I was intentionally showing off my one good nipple. I would never do that, y’all. Because I’m a lady.
And now that I’ve straightened that out (or possibly made it much, much worse) I’m going to change the subject to tell you that I just opened a box from my editor and it was filled with my book in Portuguese. I think. I’m not good with languages. But as an early Christmas/Hanukkah present I’m going to give away signed Portuguese copies to a few random commenters. Why would you even want this? I have no idea. But I guarantee that you’ll be the only one with one.
I shoved the cover in my cat's face and screamed, "HEY, CAT! YOU'RE TOTALLY FAMOUS IN BRAZIL," and then she ran and hid under the couch. Some people just can't handle fame.