Christine has a knack for making the ordinary extraordinary in her blogs. I thought this was a good approach for the serious subject of breast cancer.
She also adds interesting recipes. Karen would have loved to experiment with them.
Boobs. Hooters. Ta-tas. Nah-nahs. Melons. Jugs. Headlights. Honkers. Rack. Chi-chis. Bosoms. Gazingas. Honkers. The Girls. The Twins. Tits. Pillows. Fun bags. Bumpy bits.
There are hundreds of names for them, some more respectful than others. But whatever they are called, everyone has a thing for breasts.
Women love them because of how they fill in their shirts and dresses. And because they have long been epitomized as the end-all, be-all of the feminine mystique. We are socialized from an early age that our boobs define us, much the same as men learn at an early age to define themselves based on the size of their….shoes.
Babies love them for breakfast, lunch and dinner. And because they make a nice pillow when resting on mommy’s chest. When throwing a tantrum, they make a nice soft target when hurling one’s little toddler head into mommy with impressive force.
And men love them because…….well…
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