Well, I got my first hate mail this morning. It came in the form of a nasty comment. Wow! Nothing like a little punch in the gut to get your day started. Nice.
Most reader comments elicit warm fuzzies – another physical sensation. Nasty comments give a person that gut feeling like a punch. But the initial shock of both sensations – pleasant and ugly – have the same net effect for me. They make me want to write more.
I’ll cut to the chase. In response to my recent post, a reader offered the following advice:
Keep your cleavage hidden you cow. It’s disgusting and should not be exposed.
Ouch, LockNessLucy (sic)!
In response, I have decided to not even mention proper comma usage. Rather, I am digging the same dress out again and putting it on as my blogging attire.
Oh! And somehow that reminds me to take my medication.
Dear Lucy (of Loch Ness, I suppose), you have inspired me to write today. It’s been a dry week, creatively, and I’ve been searching for inspiration. You have given me a platform to blog, playfully, about one of my favourite topics:
Breasts. Boobs. Gazongas. Titties. Ta-tas. The Girls. Melons. Jugs. Baps. Bazookas. Thelma and Louise.
I searched for “funny breast names” and there are thousands. We are truly fascinated by breasts. There is so much to say!
At the same time, we are confused about breasts; angered, even, apparently.
Breasts are powerful.
There is nothing that can freak people out like a good ‘ol pair of Mammary Glands. And don’t get us started about nipples! Goodness. Remember the Super Bowl? Janet Jackson’s wardrobe malfunction? Unholy cow, indeed!
If “Thelma and Louise” do freak you out, don’t look any further. Here comes a pic that can send some people right over the edge. Ready?
Shocking. I know. For those of you wondering, that is, in fact, my right breast, peeking out from under my red t-shirt. The nipple, thank goodness, is hidden by my baby’s mouth. You can’t tell, but that pic is taken by my auntie during Sunday Brunch at a pancake house. Yup. That’s right. Public Breast Feeding. Makes more sense of the “cow” remark, I guess – if you’re a hater, that is.
Breasts are useful.
I suppose, one might call Right-Breast-Showing “Louise” of the “Thelma and Louise” breast nomenclature. But that’s not really my style. Hmmm. “Emily” of “Charolette and Emily”? “Ava” of “Zsa Zsa and Ava”? “Hardy” of “Laurel and …” But that’s going too far!
Breasts are inspirational.
To tell you the truth, I can’t really be bothered. I’m an informal gal, really. For me they’re just “The Girls”.
Here’s the offending pic, by the way:
Granted, this isn’t everyone’s favourite kind of cleavage. Even I prefer a little less torso. Maybe a little more “Right Said Fred” as one respondent to the “funny breast name” internet search offered. That name refers to cleavage where “you can see the top of the breasts when wearing a vest as it looks like two bald heads”. I dunno. It made me laugh, though.
Breasts are funny.
And one can never underestimate the value of a good bra. My financial situation has put me “between” good bras for the moment. One copes as best as one can. Hence the more National Geographic type cleavage in my pic above.
All in all, though, I’m more bothered by my double chin in the offending pic. But there we go with body image again.
Here, for your reference, is a pic of Right Said Fred:
What freaks us out so much about bodies?
Breasts are beautiful.
This picture of the recording artists, Right Said Fred, made me laugh, but honestly, I’d rather look at RSF boobies than these angelic gents. Too sexy, indeed. They look happy, though, don’t they? Like they’re having fun, or something (the gents, I mean, not the boobs).
Breasts are fun.
…That, and I’m not even talking about erotic at this point. Look how much fun we’re having, right? I’m having fun. How many hilarious ta-ta jokes have you heard that would make a 10 year old laugh? Go on. Admit it. Boobs are hilarious.
Breasts are erotic.
Well, we all know that, now, don’t we?
Breasts are… offensive?
Obviously, and sadly, yes. I’m not advocating stripping down and wandering around topless as we go to the grocery store, or hang around the cool part of town for the day. Part of the reason is that, actually, that would be pretty darned uncomfortable. Why?
Breasts are sweaty.
It’s true. Possibly TMI (too much information), but bras and t-shirts etc. are more comfy. Really. Let’s everyone, just keep our shirts on in public, okay? Guys too. But by all means, go ahead and give us a little peek, if you like. What’s the harm?
Breasts are beautiful.
If breasts weren’t beautiful, there wouldn’t be so many depictions of them in art.
I’m no art expert, but I have to say Rubens is my favourite appreciator of the female figure in general. And he doesn’t mind Right Said Fred cleavage at all, apparently! Or nipples…
I wonder what hilarious words they had for breasts in Rubens’ day. Did his buddies elbow him playfully at the pub and tease him about his day at work? We picture works of art as being serious. Some people can get downright uptight about art. Okay. But boobs are boobs, and people are people. I’m pretty sure Rubens enjoyed his work. I’m equally certain that his buddies were just the teeniest bit intrigued, and even jealous, maybe? For sure, there were funny things to say about breasts. I’m also certain that nay sayers thought Rubens was somehow morally corrupt.
Artists get such a bad rap in their day, don’t they?
Literature loves breasts.
Isn’t this the sexiest moment in literature? Has to be one of them…
“I was a Flower of the mountain yes when I put the rose in my hair like the Andalusian girls used or shall I wear a red yes and how he kissed me under the Moorish wall and I thought well as well him as another and then I asked him with my eyes to ask again yes and then he asked me would I yes to say yes my mountain flower and first I put my arms around him yes and drew him down to me so he could feel my breasts all perfume yes and his heart was going like mad and yes I said yes I will Yes.” ― James Joyce, Ulysses
No one can argue with that one.
All this from an innocuous little selfie of me in my greenish-yellowish Old Navy dress. Did I mention it’s from Old Navy? Too fat for shorts there, as one of my previous blog posts notes, but Old Navy is fine with me gettin’ The Girls out there!
And that’s a family store.
Bless you, LocknessLucy (sic) – you and your turtle necks in July. Have a great summer. Keep cool! Mind, though, that you don’t do anything…