Female Inflation

I sit on the floor, casually lounging as I fill yet another balloon. There's still several hours before the party, so I haven't gotten dressed yet; I'm wearing a simple pair of panties and a form-fitting white tanktop. I sigh. "Man, who knew blowing balloons would take so long?" I lament, turning to you.

You're sitting on a chair in jeans and a white t-shirt, using a pump to fill the balloons. "Well, it's a good thing we have this pump. It could be a lot slower," you note, with a smirk.

I pout. "Well, I suppose. Still, next time we should just buy them, I guess."

Julie sauntered through the doors of the Christmas Shop like she owned the place. She blew through the aisles of the shop, past Christmas trees, tinsel, massive air blown inflatables in the shape of snowmen, santa, reindeer, past a balloon counter and into the back room of the store. 

"Morning" she said jauntily to Christie, the manager. Christie was sitting on the staff room sofa looking worst for wear. "Oh boy... Christmas party... Ugh" she croaked, and chugged a glass of water, followed by a couple of headache tablets.

For the world, it began as a perfectly normal day.  The sun rose, the winds blew clouds over the ocean, and everything was normal.  But one thing was all across the news come midmorning.  Every headline in every newspaper, across every language, said the same thing:

ASTEROID HEADED FOR PLANET

Twenty bucks an hour, let me tell you, that sort of pay is a miracle in today’s entry level job market. Probably because the people running this business think it’s necessary to justify what the job entails. I think that’s hilarious, I would have done this for free.