(Phatforums News / The Stir) — This is a love story. It’s the against-all-odds tale of Joan Lloyd and Phil Absolom brought together through a simple twist of fate that caused them to fall hopelessly, madly, deeply for one another. Really it is. Please, somebody, tell me it is. It can’t be about her gigantic F cup boob job. Can it? No. Boobs like that are a dime a dozen. She’s a great-grandmother. At 66 she’s practically old enough to be his great-grandmother. I’m sure it has nothing to do with the boobs. This is just so unorthodox that in the words of Rickie Lee Jones, it must be love. Because anything else would just be wrong.
Let’s look at the evidence as to why it’s probably many, many things besides her ginormous rack. Did I mention it was big? Take a look. B.I.G.
Since I know everyone just clicked for a look, you will notice that Lloyd is without question a total fox for her age. Even without the tremendous breastages. She could have left them well enough alone, but then she wouldn’t have met that kid Absolom, 28, on Facebook. It was FATE.
Lloyd’s late husband, David, on his deathbed, told her to get the new boobs so she could go “farther in life” than he ever did. (?) So she went for it, and one day, Absolom stumbled upon her Facebook, because those youngsters are on social media all the time!
Apparently Lloyd had been attracting some press for her boob job, and Absolom decided to do more research before reaching out and saying hello. And the rest is history.
Absolom said the generation gap doesn’t bother him at all, that he could easily be with someone his own age and it would just fall apart, which is so true. That could totally happen. So the other best option is to not even try, and go for someone three times as old as you are.
They really like to cook and play Monopoly.
Oh, and her personality! Absolom said it is very much about her personality. See!
In all seriousness, I really want these kid(s) to make it, to prove to all us skeptics that love really can conquer all. And that it’s not at all about the boobs. It’s not about the boobs. Repeat after me. It’s not about the boobs …
