Holy shitkicker, I saw Bev Binkus’s boobs today. I didn’t mean to. I didn’t even want to, but there she was sitting on a stool at the long kitchen counter, a shaft of morning light projecting onto her great tangerine mane, slurping coffee from a Binkus Wings mug and looking at the local section of the paper, presumably to see if she’d made the society page this week.

“Oh my darling Donkey Peggie,” she said when she heard my hooves on the Spanish tiles. Donkey Peggie? Peggie’s a girl’s name. A woman’s name. You don’t run into respectable non-human mammals named Peggie, unless of course they were named by humans. Great, gotta love it.

“Good Morning Bev,” I wished her, and asked permission to help myself to coffee. Bev fluttered up from her stool and told me to have a seat and that she’d be “pleased as pudding pie to get me a bowl of coffee and to butter my muffin.”

Uh oh.

Her chiffon zebra robe was sheer against the generous light from the window. She wore big pink bloomers but as for a brassiere, nuttin honey. Her back was to me as she carefully stirred cream into my coffee with a little purrr, and she glanced back a few times as she dipped the butter knife into a monster bucket of margarine and caked the stuff atop a giant bran muffin like frosting on a cake. Great, bran and coffee? Nearest bathroom check. Bingo.

When Bev Binkus walked towards me at the counter, one hand carrying my bowl of morning delight (coffee) and the other carrying a plate full of giant muffin, her zebra robe untied to reveal the most alarming—no, terrifying—of sights. Bev Binkus’s boobs. Both of em, just hanging there, swaying with her bouncy gait.

Wait a minute, she doesn’t realize that her robe is open. Here she comes! Coming straight at me, no time to do anything but turn away, run maybe. How on earth can she not feel the open air? Oh God, oh God, if Binkus catches me in the midst of a Texas Nip Slip with his dear Bevvie, I’m fucked. I mean, Game Over. Goodbye. Birky Binkus gets the job, not to mention the inheritance and glory.

“Yodeleeehoo! DP, you in here you honorary Texan?”

Of course. I mean, come on. It wouldn’t be life. It wouldn’t be my life if just at the precise moment that this red-headed, giant-breasted zebra that Binkus calls his ‘one and only true love outside of poultry’ is putting on a private mammary show just as the man himself strolls in. What to do, what to do.

“Bev, pssst,” I whispered quickly, nodding my head like a lunatic. “Your robe. Open. Boobs. Bad. Binkus.”

“Ohhhweee,” said Bev with a greedy giggle, “I… am soooo embarassed.” She said this as she ran her finger from the top of my head down to my nose from across the counter.

“Yodelayohoo, here I am! Ready for day two with my little donkey…”

Good thing Binkus is a large man whose walk is more side-to-side waddle than forward ambulation. Bev had just turned her back and retied her devious robe.

“Ah, just the two I was looking for. Bevvie, go put some clothes on. Get outta that animal suit or DP here might start sniffing at ya.”

More chuckling, minutes of it. This guy is a pig. The look of sheer delight on Bev’s face at the thought of me frisking me with my big nostrils was enough to make me lose my thirst for coffee, and just about enough to make me lose my appetite for the Binkus account.

This woman is pure Texas devil and I tell you, she wants me. She wants me like I want the Binkus account. Or maybe not. I can’t wrap my head around it. Regardless, I’m trapped here for a few more days.  Dinner tonight should be interesting.