Well, my last post caused quite a stir, and I had no intention of doing that. It was the mere mention of my right breast, Quit It, that caused the ruckus. Not the boob part. You every day readers are used to my rantings and ravings about the boobs. It was the fact I have named her that seemed to get the giggles.
So, today, in honor of my friend Hillary and her Mr. Linky blog hop (I had no idea what that was either till I looked it up.) I was challenged to post something really crazy. That’s the theme of the blog hop today. So crazy you are gonna get. After all, you regular readers know that your old pal Charlie here is the queen of crazy. I wear my crown proudly.
And in my humble estimation, there is nothing crazier than a man’s fascination with boobs. After all, as women we have lost our allure of the idea of a boob. It serves as 3 basic functions in a woman’s life.
Those functions are as follows-
1. A source of humiliation in high school. They are either too big or too small. Or maybe they are too pointy. Whatever your problem was, you figured out exactly what it was in high school. Am I right?
2. A source of nourishment for those of us with natural born children.
3. Something resembling cat toys for the men in our life.
Yep, that’s about it. Sure there are temporary functions for the girls- purse, napkin, leaky faucet, etc., but pretty much the 3 above mentioned jobs are the mainstay role of our girls.
What weirds me out is every man in the world (with a lick of horrormoans left in him, anyway) seems to be drawn without reproach to the mounds of droopy flesh- I mean God given gifts on our chest. They stare, stalk, and even once in a while manage the courage to reach out and touch them. Hence the names of my breasts.
I spent the majority of high school career was smacking the eager hands of young boys, crying out “Stop it! Quit it!” until they knocked it off. The names just stuck.
Recently, Stop It and Quit It took a trip south. Partly because of the weight I have lost, partly because of breastfeeding 3 greedy babies, but mostly due to gravity. Gravity is a cruel mistress, as many of you know. My boobs once pointed to Canada. Now, they are kissing South America. And striving for Antarctica. Which would be my feet. They ARE always cold. Coincidence? I think not.
Yet my sweet husband seems to be endlessly entertained by Stop It and Quit It. In fact, lately, with the emergence of my slightly new and improved body, he has a new hobby. Everytime he passes me going from one room to another, he has to touch one. Just for a second. If the kids are in the room, it’s just a “bump” into one. But if the kids are in bed, heaven help me, I get mauled to death by happy hands and a dumb grin on his face.
Don’t get me wrong, I am happy for the attention. But sometimes, it just gets annoying. You know? I have things to do, and if I am carrying a laundry basket of clothes to my scary basement, I really don’t want to take 2 minutes to let him play. I am seriously considering carrying around a set of pink water balloons and telling him, “I’m going shopping. Have fun!” He would never notice I was gone.
But to be honest, I love my boobs and would be lost without them. I wouldn’t know how to dress, or how to flirt with my fella. I’d spend a lot more money on pedicures if I could actually see my toes in their absence, I suppose. I just wish they didn’t look like a leg of a pair of suntan panty hose with a cantelope shoved in the bottom. If they just looked me in the eyes once again, I’d be happy.
In summary, and to be honest, I can’t remember if I have shared this story on the blog before or not, I had one of those great “my kid just kicked me in the teeth with reality” moments.
So, today, in honor of my friend Hillary and her Mr. Linky blog hop (I had no idea what that was either till I looked it up.) I was challenged to post something really crazy. That’s the theme of the blog hop today. So crazy you are gonna get. After all, you regular readers know that your old pal Charlie here is the queen of crazy. I wear my crown proudly.
And in my humble estimation, there is nothing crazier than a man’s fascination with boobs. After all, as women we have lost our allure of the idea of a boob. It serves as 3 basic functions in a woman’s life.
Those functions are as follows-
1. A source of humiliation in high school. They are either too big or too small. Or maybe they are too pointy. Whatever your problem was, you figured out exactly what it was in high school. Am I right?
2. A source of nourishment for those of us with natural born children.
3. Something resembling cat toys for the men in our life.
Yep, that’s about it. Sure there are temporary functions for the girls- purse, napkin, leaky faucet, etc., but pretty much the 3 above mentioned jobs are the mainstay role of our girls.
What weirds me out is every man in the world (with a lick of horrormoans left in him, anyway) seems to be drawn without reproach to the mounds of droopy flesh- I mean God given gifts on our chest. They stare, stalk, and even once in a while manage the courage to reach out and touch them. Hence the names of my breasts.
I spent the majority of high school career was smacking the eager hands of young boys, crying out “Stop it! Quit it!” until they knocked it off. The names just stuck.
Recently, Stop It and Quit It took a trip south. Partly because of the weight I have lost, partly because of breastfeeding 3 greedy babies, but mostly due to gravity. Gravity is a cruel mistress, as many of you know. My boobs once pointed to Canada. Now, they are kissing South America. And striving for Antarctica. Which would be my feet. They ARE always cold. Coincidence? I think not.
Yet my sweet husband seems to be endlessly entertained by Stop It and Quit It. In fact, lately, with the emergence of my slightly new and improved body, he has a new hobby. Everytime he passes me going from one room to another, he has to touch one. Just for a second. If the kids are in the room, it’s just a “bump” into one. But if the kids are in bed, heaven help me, I get mauled to death by happy hands and a dumb grin on his face.
Don’t get me wrong, I am happy for the attention. But sometimes, it just gets annoying. You know? I have things to do, and if I am carrying a laundry basket of clothes to my scary basement, I really don’t want to take 2 minutes to let him play. I am seriously considering carrying around a set of pink water balloons and telling him, “I’m going shopping. Have fun!” He would never notice I was gone.
But to be honest, I love my boobs and would be lost without them. I wouldn’t know how to dress, or how to flirt with my fella. I’d spend a lot more money on pedicures if I could actually see my toes in their absence, I suppose. I just wish they didn’t look like a leg of a pair of suntan panty hose with a cantelope shoved in the bottom. If they just looked me in the eyes once again, I’d be happy.
In summary, and to be honest, I can’t remember if I have shared this story on the blog before or not, I had one of those great “my kid just kicked me in the teeth with reality” moments.
I had clean laundry in the living room, and Tim, who was 6 at the time, was sitting watching TV in there. So I streaked, topless, to the clean clothes basket. Tim didn’t give me a second glance. Until I went back in the bedroom with a clean bra and shirt and began dressing. He called from the living room, “Hey, Mom? Why did God give women long boobs?”
Sometimes, you just can’t argue with the truth.
Sometimes, you just can’t argue with the truth.
7 comments:
You, my friend, are the Queen of Crazy, for sure. Absolutely hysterical.
I completely agree with you about high school.
And your breast geography should be a 101 class for expectant mothers. So true. Darn that Newton and his pesky laws.
I'm visting from the blog party - oh lord have mercy, that comment at the end about the long boobs was priceless.
Fortunately, since i still wear a padded bra, my husband is not a boob man, he's a butt man and i've got plenty of junk in my trunk so that works great.
I have a 5YO. We are not short on truthful assessment around here.
What fun to be able to have a laugh at my reality!
SOOO nice to meet you sister girl, you are hillllarious! Wow, where to start on my comment? First, I want you to know I'm cracking up at my computer screen, all by myself here at work as I read your blog. My hubs does the drive by groping too. I can't lie, I eat it up, but YES it can happen at times where its old. Long boobs..hahaha..haven't heard that one yet, but having nursed 3 kids too- I'm shocked none of them thought of that clever description. I'm going to spend some time on your blog today girly! love it
Hillarious!!! I am on a weight loss journey of my own and it seems that my long boobs just don't want to go away. I'm going to check out "The Yoga Incident". Thanks for the laugh!
From the mouths of babes! Too funny!
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