Tits for tat.

I love breasts. I love small breasts, big breasts, sagging breasts, perky breasts and whatever else you can find. I love breasts that are always hanging yet conical; I love breasts that bear no burden of proof. Boys are introduced to breasts, and they never let go. Even the hardiest of men would find it difficult to survive without his regular dose of the valleys yonder.

However, being the bigot that I am, I only like breasts that come on women...I'd be repulsed at the sight of my own mammary rack. And I am.

Another pair of breasts that I can't abide by would be the artificial kind. Or even the kinds that need a bit of a lift to get people to notice them...which would take away from the appreciation even further, given the acknowledgment and realization of them needing a lift in the first place. However, it must be said that there're those amongst us who wouldn't really care about the authenticity of the sacred melons.

Shame on you.

It's those who would disregard the au naturel in preference for a set of artificially inflated jugs that sicken me.

It's substance that should matter.

The same can be said of most things today; with superficiality being the main craze amongst the kids these days, it's getting more and more testing to remember a time when men were men and women were happy being flat chested.

So, let me say this, if not to make myself more earthed and humbled, then at least because it fills up space and makes people feel better.

I like big girls. I don't mind my partner not having a D cup. And being a short pixie is a big plus in my book.

Beauty is passe. It's time to make like the clouds and condense.

As cliched and tired as it sounds, being proud of what you are and where you came from counts for more than becoming something that you don't have to be.

Not anymore.




I will save you, Britney. Hang on, baby.