“911 operator, how can I help you?

“Help… I’d like to report a robbery,” I said wiping the tears from my eyes. “The address is 36-40-36 Flabby Way.”

Next thing I knew, I was explaining what happened to Officer Barney Fife from the “Missing Body Parts Unit.”

“Ma’am, can you describe what’s missing?”

“I went to bed last night and awoke this morning and they were gone.”

“Exactly what has disappeared?”

“My boobs.” Sheesh…what a moron.

“Your, ahh…what Ma’am?”

“My boobs,” I said impatiently.

“Could you describe them?” he said as he prepared to write.

Part of me wanted to shout…they were perky “DD’s” and yes, they were real. Instead, I mumbled,

“Well, they are a size “B”. When I wear a push-up bra, the girls appear larger.”

“Girls?” He said with alarm. “You also have missing kids?”

“Don’t you ever watch Oprah? Women call their, er, chest ‘the girls’”

“Oh. Well is there any chance you could have misplaced them?”

“Sure doesn’t every woman misplace her breasts? Look, I had them yesterday and when I went to get dressed this morning, they were boob-napped.”

“Is anything else missing?”

I panicked. What if Barney decided to frisk me for any other missing body parts?
Men! Should I tell him that my smooth legs, girl like figure and libido had taken a hike.

“No, isn’t that enough?”

“You receive a ransom note, ma’am?”

“Oh my god, could someone be holding them hostage? Look, I’ll offer a reward. Please don’t let them harm the girls.”

This wasn’t making any sense. I was not a voluptuous woman by any stretch of the imagination. When God handed out breasts during puberty, I received mosquito bites. Why would anyone want my barely “B’s”?

How about the Tooth Fairy? I’d seen her working at Victoria’s Secret plenty of times. Perhaps business has been slow. She wanted to spark up her love life with Tom Thumb, and Tom had been giving Tinkerbelle the eye. Ole Tink had implants and was working at the “Never Never Land” Hooters. I bet she grabbed the flab to boost her bust.

“Ma’am, have you by any chance been on a diet recently?”

“Are you saying I’m fat?

“No not at all Ma’am.”

Now, Barney looked as defensive as my husband when I asked him if my pants made my butt look like a barge.

“It’s not bad enough that my boobs are gone.” I glared at Barney. “Now I have to deal body image issues too? For your information, officer, I have been on the ‘Thunder Thighs Be Gone’ diet.”

He nodded. Know –it –all. “Yep. Ma’am, it all fits. Dieting, then your, er girls go MIA. This is definitely ah, boob job. I’m afraid you are the victim of the ‘Seattle Glutton Bandit.’” Has his hand prints all over it.

Clearly, this officer had eaten one too many donuts.

“The what bandit?”

“The Seattle Glutton Bandit. He preys on unassuming women who are desperately trying to lose weight. His MO is that he absconds with any excess body fat that women lose while on fad diets. Unfortunately the bust area is one of the first places women lose weight. My guess is that he nabbed your breasts by accident.”

“No….I can’t afford to lose what little I have.”

“I’m sorry ma’am, but we haven’t been able to catch the perpetrator.”

He quickly handed me an artist’s sketch of the alleged ‘Seattle Glutton’ bandit.
The thought that I could help catch this guy was titillating until I glanced at the drawing. He looked like a cross between Snidely Whiplash and Bart Simpson.

“What am I supposed to do in the mean time? I have no boobs. My bras won’t fit. This can’t be happening.”

The room started spinning and I was being strangled by bra straps and falsies were coming out of my ears. Next thing I knew, I was falling into a pit of used training bras.

I awoke with a start and groped for the “girls” as might have after a college kegger. I sighed with relief as I discovered they were still intact and I wouldn’t be relegated to doing commercials for “Padded Bras R Us.” They may be small, but they were mine, and definitely weren’t worth stealing.