WHAT IS IT ABOUT BREASTS?

What do model train sets and breasts have in common?

They're both meant for children but it's the fathers who end up playing with them.

What is it about breasts?

OK , I have two and if I say so myself, they're not bad. As a Seinfeld episode says, "they're real and they're magnificent."

I look down, they're there. As I've gotten older, I have to be careful how I roll on my side. I don't want the ladies getting caught. Anyone who's over 50 will know EXACTLY what I mean. I like the look of cleavage and I admit, I like them large myself. I'm OK with my body and my boobs. I mean, they're not so large that I need a reduction but they match my hips.

My first episode with comments was when I was young. I got teased because I was in a bra earlier than the other girls. I went right through the trai

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ning bra into a C cup. Even then it didn't bother me because I figured everyone would get there eventually and they were just jealous. Other things bothered me and hurt my self esteem. Boob jokes didn't. Snapping my bra was a fake annoyance.

As I got older I grew to tolerate the boob jokes. Really. It was no big deal to me. Boys grew up slower than girls and I thought they were really juvenile especially when all they wanted to do was touch them. So onward and upward.

My mother must have been a smart woman. I never appreciated her until she was gone. I thought she was kind of a goofball. I didn't realize then how much environment affects our personality. I inherited all kinds of quirks. Back to the boobs. She made me get a sleep bra. For those who don't know what it is, it's exactly what the name implies. It's a bra to sleep in. It is supposed to keep your breasts supported and keep them, as she liked to say, perky. Back then, I thought she was crazy. Now I wish I'd slept in it constantly. I mean they're not down to my legs but they could use a little lift.

When I looked at magazines of women in the work force boobs were never addressed. Suits had blouses buttoned up to their neck so I never thought the work place would be a place where I had to address the boob issue. Boy, was I naive.

Although I wasn't really the working type, I do have a great work ethic. I have a great life ethic. Work hard, play hard and rest hard. Lately I've had the rest hard down pat. I was fortunate. I didn't have to work when I was growing up but I did want to do something so I decided since I loved photography I'd be a camera girl in the Aladdin Hotel showroom.

The job didn't last long. One night actually. We had cute little uniforms that were designed to make men look at everything but the camera. He must have thought that if they look at the boobs long enough they'll buy anything. Hey, you don't mess with what works or in other words, don't re-invent the wheel.

The uniform was short and I looked pretty good. As I sashayed through the casino with my camera perched on one arm, I passed by the bar. A guy turned around and eyed me up and down and said, "great tits but no ass." I hit him with the camera and walked into my bosses office, put the camera down and quit. He said I'd have to get used to the comments. I didn't stay.

I could tolerate junior high and high school boys snickering and making jokes. I figured that is what they were designed to do. I can handle pointed stares. Hey, men aren't dead and they are big. OK, I can handle that too.

What I can't handle is men, of an age that are supposed to know better, CONSTANTLY, making comments. Whether watching TV, out for dinner or anywhere looking at women's breasts and commenting on their size. I don't get it. I can almost see the drool running down to their chin. I mean, I don't look at men and then look down at their crotch and evaluate what I see and then make comments about it. What is it?

Do they subconsciously have a mommy fixation? Were they of the non-breast-fed generation and they want to return for what they missed? What is it? There was an email that went around that said men that ogle breasts actually add years to their lifespan and that ogling breasts for 10 minutes equaled a 30 minute workout. OH RIGHT. It did turn out to be a hoax but I'll bet men clung to that one and hung on for dear life.

I read an article that asked the question. Does size matter? He compared it to the question posed to females and penis size. Does it matter? Again, he said hell yes. Well, it may matter but we don't ogle it in public. Get a room full of testosterone and they become a cult of boob worshippers and neanderthal in one fell swoop.

What do they really want?

The same thing they did when they were little boys.

Nipples.

Accessibility.

Men see a breast and it's immediate turn on mode. It's as good as having the remote control in their hands. OK; better, but if they could point that remote control at your shirt and click to show boobs, they'd be in heaven. Honest to God, nirvana.

Is it that breasts remind them of the days when mommy held them and protected them from the big bad world? Are they the way the subconscious searches for fertile woman to ensure the procreation of the species?

Remember baseball. The guys would do high fives for getting to second base. They were revered and held in high esteem. The girl was a slut, but the guy was A GOD! It's the original home entertainment center!

I think it must be advertising that keeps boobs at the center of the universe. Madison Avenue has the power to make people buy all sorts of ridiculous things; the Chia pet, aqua globes, Topsy-Turvey tomato grower and the buy of all times..........the pet rock. Is it any wonder that breasts have become a multi-billion dollar industry?

Actually, I think the problem started with women.

It's our fault.

We give birth and take this baby boy who's screaming bloody murder having been taken from the warmth of the womb and what do we do?

We stick a nipple in his mouth to shut him up.

Case closed.