Rachel
Bradley

ET TU, MAMMARIES?

Et tu, mammaries?

I stood in the mirror at the Brea Improv, changing out of workout clothes, getting ready to go on stage. I had driven there in Friday traffic from a Nike audition, starring my feet, running barefoot on a treadmill. I realized my agent and I were overdue for the talk where I explained that when I was 19, my windshield had proven Newton's law by catapulting itself into my right foot sometime between the fourth and fifth SUV somersault. I then took said feet (via plywood/duct tape ambulance) to a small, rural hospital in Marshall, Texas, and had them stitched by a guy with one eye and early onset Parkinson’s, who had an aversion to touching feet.
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