June 12, 2012

• WOMEN’S BREAST!…… a mystery and a curse

      

   “Breasts are a scandal because they shatter the border between motherhood and sexuality.”

   

      Breast are everywhere. That’s what I said, everywhere! No matter where I go or what activity I’m evolved in….they are all around me! They are flouted, exposed, gyrated, uplifted and enhanced beyond my ability to cope. It has been documented, on the walls of ancient caves in France, Scotland and Des Moines Iowa, that breast were most likely discovered around 8,500 B.C.  It was after the last “Ice Age” when the female species finally started removing their extra woolly mammoth hides, that the affliction was first noticed. I say affliction, since these appendages did not resemble man’s pectorals in any way….therefore, they must have been hereditary flukes. Faulty, in that they also leaked.

      I personally discovered breast when I was 13 years old, A.D. I remember many years ago, my Dad warning me about this feminine asset as being hazardous to the male species. He would start to explain what to be aware of and then all of a sudden he would become speechless and start perspiring. It remained a mystery. When I was twelve years of age, a woman’s breast were no more than awkward body luggage to me, but at thirteen….they became a pulsating beacon to every hormone my body could produce while working overtime. They were both fascinating and scary. They had the mysterious ability to make my young brain shut down, causing me to forget about half the English language I had worked so hard to master in my first decade of life.

      When I was sixteen, I had surveyed the female terrain of high school and was now well familiar with the genetic phenomenon and on more than a few occasions had exercised my male ordained privilege of exploring more than a few terrains. I was still having a language problem and drooling had become an issue. Well into my twenties, bosoms had become essential in my social life.  Women that registered as double cups were prized much like a trophy elk.  Showing up at a party with what’s her name and her fantastic cauliflower smorgasbord, was more than enough to maintain one’s status as alpha stud of the evening.  The fact that she had a college education or any education was superfluous. When I was almost thirty, I discovered breast had brains. After wasting years studying the “titty menu”, I finally married and settled down to a rewarding life with a good job, home, and a smart wife that worked. I was also blessed with the guardianship of some of the finest double D tatas allowed without a permit. Then she got pregnant.

      I have learned now, that life is a lot like a new backpack for school. It’s bright and exciting and shaped perfect to hold all your books, snacks, pencil box and gym clothes. As time passes, it’s tossed and slung in ever direction and fought over by you and the Labrador. Too often, it’s over used, neglected, stuffed with junk and on more than a few occasions, left out in the rain. Pregnant breast are like used up back packs. One day they look like they were sculptured by Michelangelo and then one postnatal morning, like my nephew’s sculpture of warm PLAY-DOH.  Her boobs had become feeding stations and were no longer pleasure zones.  Once again, I was speechless.

      Now the years have passed and the mammaries have long ago served their purpose and function. In effect….they have been retired. My spouse and I make light humor about them from time to time, but in our sixties, conversations about bowel movements seem more relevant. Then, one morning after I showered, I stand before the mirror to shave….and that’s when I discover….man breast!  Sagging, floppy man breast. Once again, I’m speechless.

   

   

  
  

  • 4:53 pm
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