Three Things I Learned From A Boob Man

Breasts. Boobs. Tits. Ta-tas. Melons. Cans.

I don’t get what all the fuss is about. I mean, boobs are cute, even beautiful, and cuddly and squishy. But I just never understood the attention paid to them, why they’re so eroticized, or why they’re considered profane. Like do we really need to harass breastfeeding mothers? That’s what boobs are for.

As the owner of a pair, I’ve been largely indifferent to them most of my life.

Photo courtesy of Mylor used under Creative Commons license.

It was quite an education, then, to learn from my husband, who is the quintessential boob man. If he had a superhero power, it would be to see the world only as disembodied boobs. I’m not sure how that would help fight crime, but it sure seems to keep him happily occupied.

From him, I learned that boobs are all different. As a typically egocentric person, I assumed that all boobs looked like mine. Not so. There are flapjacks, round boobs, banana boobs, torpedo tits, perky boobs, saggy boobs. As if he had x-ray vision, my husband could predict down to the areola what a woman’s naked boobs would look like before I could even tell if they were a different size than mine.

I also learned that boobs look great in tee shirts. For years I’ve been planning feminine, colorful outfits, only to find out that a tee shirt and jeans afford great tits-and-ass viewing. I guess girls really do dress for each other.

Finally, I learned that many men have an appreciation for the female form in all its shapes and sizes. My husband, for example, prefers a perky handful of boob, but has no problem oogling big breasts and itty-bitty titties with equal awe and wonder.

Getting insight into the mind of a boob man has instilled a bit of mystery and intrigue for me when it comes to boobs. I still don’t get what ALL the fuss is about, but I’m a little more attentive and appreciative, and can even occasionally pull off the disembodied boob superview of the world.