Brenda underperforms. Susanne has white privilege. Both leaked prized materials onto my brand-new fucking sweater.
November 4, 2026
My breasts have names.
This was necessary for administrative purposes.
My left breast is Brenda.
My right breast is Susanne.
Together, they are the only two employees at the dairy.
Their job description is very simple:
Produce milk.
Remain inside the assigned uniform.
Do not create additional problems for management.
Neither employee has consistently met all three expectations.
Meet the Staff
Brenda has been on a performance-improvement plan since approximately forever.
She is the left titty.
She underproduces.
During a normal pumping session, Brenda usually trails Susanne by one or two ounces.
Sometimes Brenda contributes half an ounce and looks me directly in the soul like she has fulfilled the terms of her employment contract.
Ma’am.
This is a dairy.
You cannot clock in, produce a sample, and leave the rest of the shift uncovered.
Susanne is the right titty.
She is management’s favorite strictly because she consistently performs the job for which she was hired.
Susanne produces more.
Susanne responds better to the pump.
Susanne has spent months carrying the department while Brenda continues receiving equal space in the bra and access to the same snacks.
Susanne also has white privilege.
I cannot prove this through formal documentation, but the workplace disparity speaks for itself.
Brenda is clearly the diversity hire.
Unfortunately, HR will not let me fire her.
They keep mumbling something about bodily integrity, reasonable accommodations, and how removing one of the employees would be “medically unnecessary.”
Fine.
But I would still like her disciplinary record documented.
The First Incident
At approximately 5:30 in the morning, Meatball merely existed near me.
That was enough.
Brenda leaked.
Onto my brand-new fuzzy sweater.
Not an old shirt.
Not a designated pumping bra.
Not something already sentenced to life among spit-up stains and questionable baby fluids.
My new fucking sweater.
Apparently, Brenda had milk available.
She had simply been withholding it until she found an opportunity to destroy company property.
This was particularly offensive because fuzzy material is one of those textures my sensory issues either love or absolutely fucking despise depending on its condition.
Dry fuzzy material?
Wonderful.
Warm.
Soft.
Comforting.
Wet fuzzy material?
An abomination.
A neurological emergency.
A texture specifically designed to make my skin attempt to vacate my body.
So now there was a cold, wet patch of breast milk soaking into the fuzzy material against my skin.
I could feel every damp fiber.
Every movement made it worse.
The sweater was touching me incorrectly.
My nervous system immediately opened a formal investigation.
This was no longer merely a lactation incident.
It was a targeted sensory attack.
I pumped shortly afterward.
Brenda produced approximately one and a half ounces.
Susanne produced approximately two and a half.
So even after leaking valuable titty milk onto my clothing, Brenda still came in one full ounce behind her coworker.
Absolutely incredible.
Imagine arriving early, damaging company property, and still missing your production goal.
Yet somehow, Brenda remains employed.
Protected class, apparently.
Susanne Becomes Overconfident
After the first incident, I believed the matter was closed.
Brenda had leaked.
The sweater had suffered.
Management had documented the violation.
I continued wearing the sweater because it was brand new, the damage had already been done, and changing clothes would have required a level of executive functioning that was not currently available.
This was a mistake.
At approximately 11:30, I was changing Meatball’s diaper while she screamed.
She was contributing passionate verbal feedback to a routine service she had neither scheduled nor consented to.
I was trying to clean a moving target while being yelled at by someone whose entire legal identity I personally created.
Then I felt it.
Wetness.
Again.
On the opposite side of the same fucking sweater.
Susanne had leaked.
Susanne had apparently submitted a successful workplace-accommodation request titled:
If She Gets to Ruin the Sweater, I Do Too.
The titties had coordinated an attack.
One employee soaked the left side at 5:30.
The other waited six hours and soaked the right side during an active diaper crisis.
Same sweater.
Opposite sides.
Prized materials released without authorization.
This was not leakage.
This was collaboration.
This was organized labor.
This was a hostile work environment.
Management Had Not Prepared for This
At this point, I had not eaten.
I had not hydrated.
I had not taken my medication.
I was operating entirely on stress, spite, and whatever nutrients remained in my body from a previous fiscal quarter.
Yet both breasts had somehow located enough resources to leak onto my clothes.
Interesting.
When attached to the pump, these women occasionally act like milk production is a complex elective task requiring perfect lighting, hydration, nutrition, emotional support, and a written invitation.
But place me in a brand-new fuzzy sweater?
Suddenly, inventory is available.
Suddenly, distribution is thriving.
Suddenly, everybody wants to participate.
I hooked myself up to the pump because apparently the employees had decided to begin the workday without notifying management.
I intended to drink water.
I was supposed to take my medication.
I planned to retrieve my BodyArmor from the refrigerator when I finished.
I had to begin emergency recovery procedures because the dairy had already started releasing product directly into the environment.
I did, in fact, forget to do all of those things.
I remained dehydrated and unmedicated.
But I finally ate!
The Final Numbers
After leaking onto the sweater, Susanne produced two ounces.
Brenda produced one.
Let us review.
Brenda leaked at approximately 5:30 AM.
She later produced one and a half ounces while Susanne produced two and a half.
At approximately 11:30 AM, Susanne leaked onto the opposite side of the exact same sweater while I changed Meatball’s diaper and Meatball screamed like I had violated several international treaties.
Then, during the next pump, Susanne produced two ounces.
Brenda produced one.
Brenda still underperformed.
Even with unauthorized off-the-clock production.
Even after proving she had additional inventory available.
Even after ruining my sweater.
One ounce.
That is not an employee.
That is a liability with a nipple.
The Internal Investigation
I would like it noted that Susanne is not innocent.
Yes, she is the stronger producer.
Yes, she routinely carries the dairy.
Yes, she has earned several imaginary Employee of the Month awards.
But she also waited until management was vulnerable.
My hands were occupied.
The baby was screaming.
There was an open diaper on the premises.
Then Susanne struck.
She saw what Brenda had done to one side of my sweater and apparently decided unequal property damage reflected poorly on the organization.
So she corrected it.
Not by helping.
Not by contributing additional milk during scheduled pumping hours.
By soaking the opposite titty area.
Equity achieved.
The sweater was now evenly disrespected.
✨ BALANCE ✨
Brenda’s Continued Employment
Brenda remains employed despite chronic underperformance, theft of company resources, destruction of personal property, and a documented pattern of doing whatever the fuck she wants.
I have attempted to escalate the matter.
HR refuses to intervene.
Apparently, “left titty is a lazy whore” is not sufficient cause for termination.
They have advised additional pumping, hydration, nutrition, rest, and patience.
Rest.
That is precious.
I have a six-month-old baby, two independently operated breasts, and a sensory system that interprets wet fuzzy fabric as an act of war.
There will be no rest.
There will only be meetings.
Brenda will continue contributing the bare minimum while receiving full benefits.
Susanne will continue flaunting her superior output and leaking whenever she believes management has become too comfortable.
I will continue attaching both of them to machinery every few hours and pretending I control this organization.
Nobody will be fired.
Nobody will be promoted.
The sweater will be washed.
The dairy will reopen.
Final Incident Report
By noon, both employees had leaked prized materials onto my brand-new fucking sweater.
Brenda attacked first.
Susanne completed the set.
My sensory issues filed for workers’ compensation.
Meatball screamed through the second offense as both witness and probable accomplice.
Production remained unequal.
Accountability remained nonexistent.
And despite everything, the dairy successfully produced milk for my baby.
Which is, unfortunately, the kind of ending that makes HR insist the system is functioning as intended.
It is not.
But the baby is fed.
The sweater is washable.
The employees remain attached.
And Brenda’s position remains protected despite overwhelming evidence that she is absolutely a diversity hire with no work ethic.
Same body.
Same dairy.
Different outputs.
Zero fucking accountability.
Whores.
-EC 🌈
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