My What Big Eyes You Have
David Lunas

As I spun her around and stopped her, her breasts would spin almost half way around her body. I could tell this because she always wore a loosely fitted blouse. We continued to dance as the procession of people made their way around some labor union's hall that looked like a large generic warehouse. It was "Carnaval '92," and everyone was either in the act or trying really hard. Some men were topless with elaborate feather costumes and, if it weren't that we were in Philly, I think that some women would have been topless too. But wouldn't you know it, I was spending the evening with a couple of Yentas from South Philly. Mary Ivy, the one with the breasts to her navel, just loved to dance, and I, being Spanish, could satisfy with my hip movement. Beth, the fiery red head, was my best friend, but this evening the lure of Mary Ivy's pendulous breasts had hypnotized me away from Beth.
As the evening wore on, Beth got more civil and more dissatisfied with my lack of attention.
"Hi Beth," I said as sweat dripped down my face.
"Hi," she responded, but she wouldn't look at me. Finally, I asked her to dance. The music was getting faster and more festive. It almost felt like Rio. Not that I've ever been there, but you get the point. After a while, Beth took off in a cab and left me with Mary Ivy; I guess I deserved it. So I looked around for Mary Ivy, and I found her in the arms of a topless feather bearing Brazilian, whose hips were even more dynamic than mine.

First published: July 1996