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As they focus the camera on a display of my books, my mind starts to wander. Then the host begins to joke about his female co-host posing for one of the covers and holds up the stepback cover for AFTER MIDNIGHT. Suddenly out of nowhere, all of these frantic cries of "Nipple! Nipple! NIPPLE!!!" erupt from the technicians in the control booth. (And if you've never heard a group of men shouting "NIPPLE!" in unison, I assure you that it can be VERY disconcerting.) Fearing the worst, I immediately glance down at my own chest.
But it seems they weren't worried about my nipples. Apparently the FCC regulations since the Janet Jackson debacle are so strict that they feared retribution for exposing my hero's rather robust nipple. I gently pointed out that it was a MALE nipple and we'd all seen numerous shirtless young men wading through the New Orleans floodwaters in the past few days. They mopped their collective brows in relief.
Several years ago my best friend had a car accident and I just happened to be the first person to come along after it happened. I stuffed her in my car and rushed her to the emergency room. We're in the exam room waiting for the doctor and suddenly she hisses at me, "Give me your underwear!" "Huh?" I say. Turns out she had violated that most sacred of all parental dictates--Always Wear Clean Underwear In Case You Get In An Accident. Not only was she not wearing CLEAN underwear. She wasn't wearing ANY underwear at all. So there we were in the exam room with me frantically wiggling out of my panties so she can shimmy into them. I can only imagine what the doctor would have thought had he walked in at that moment!