Boobs

I watched a TV sit-com show the other night, and the guy asked his girlfriend if having boobs was weird. I went OMG, because one time a guy asked me the very same thing. And I said “Yes. Having boobs is weird.” I mean, come on, they’re fundamentally milk sacs to feed babies. After that, they’re merely ornaments … up-front conversation pieces both dudes and chicks use to compare and contrast other boobs with.

Boobs grow in all shapes and sizes. Shape and size are important aspects to the connoisseur of teats. So are size, contour, texture, and their age. Young boobs are more valuable than older boobs. Young, perky boobs sell products.

Boobs are really out there in the advertising world. Just look around! And we all look, whether we admit it or not. You know you peek at them inside low-cut blouses and look for pokies in tee shirts and even cheer on their owners at wet tee-shirt parties. We even pay money to see them undressed.

Photos of boobs are collectibles. College dorm rooms have them as part of the decor. My old boyfriend took hundreds of pictures of my boobs and blew up their size on an old Xerox machine. He painted all sorts of pictures of them. They were like Monet’s famous haystacks.

When I lived in some European countries, there were places that allowed my boobs to hang out and soak up the sun and fresh air. But back in the USA I have to keep my milk sacs covered when I’m in public. It’s crazy how uptight the USA is. Sometimes, I want to strip off my bra and let the whole world see mine and say, “They’re only boobs.” But that would send me off to jail in this fundamentally-Christian-but-not-really-all-that-Christian country. Maybe my boobs could get me out of jail too. I’m sure they could. And that is so weird.

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