Another Boob Story Just To Keep Up The Naughtiness Quota

Did I ever tell you about the time that Mr Mac and I went to have Teppanyaki dinner in Melbourne? Our dear friend Jeni took us out for a special treat to a restaurant in the Melbourne suburb of Prahran (pronounced in Melbourne drawl as Puh-ranne. Oh those flat, flat vowels.) Anyway, we sat down at our reserved table and our Asian chef came and introduced himself. He was a bit of showman and made us laugh all night, his main joke being that he was only moonlighting in the teppanyaki resto, his normal job was working in his Greek father's kebab shop, two doors down.

As you may or may not know, a (Western) teppanyaki meal requires a bit of audience participation. About halfway through the meal, during the fried rice course, our chef started to throw rice at us to be caught not in our bowls but in our mouths. Jeni managed to catch some in her mouth without making too much of a mess. Mr Mac managed the same. I didn't. When the rice came my way I shrieked and made a fool of myself as the rice splattered all over my face, most of it landing in my more-than-ample cleavage. I fished what I could out and enjoyed the rest of the meal.

As the chef was cleaning the grill and saying his goodnights to us at the end, I could still feel rice sticking to my bosoms. I tried to discreetly remove the few remaining and offending grains but our chef caught me.

"Have you still got rice in there?" he asked very loudly, clicking his chopsticks in my direction and bringing the entire restaurant's attention to my rice predicament. "Want me to get it our for you?" He sized up my décolletage; "I'm trained in search and rescue!" he exclaimed and the whole restaurant laughed while I blushed like a virgin on her wedding night.