Delusive Snippet #2
I have a lovely bosom.
No, really, I do. Sometimes when I’m sitting alone thinking, I like to scrunch up really tightly, pull my knees to my chest and nuzzle my nose, mouth and chin between my breasts. I mean, presumably masturbation is entirely normal, right? So why shouldn’t one profess self-love in other ways? Is self-love like the love between lovers or is it meant to be more like familial love? Whatever. Who can resist soft, sweet-smelling, cozy, breathless moments? And why does someone else have to be there to witness them? I know. I’m telling you about it now, but that’s hardly the same.
26 October 2007 at 9:07 pm
I am debating two possible responses to this post. In order to give them equal merit, I shall instead enter two comments. Yes, I know, I’m greedy.
Comment #1:
“Is self-love like the love between lovers or is it meant to be more like familial love?”
I hate you. Now, if I so much as dare to self-love ever again, I’ll be thinking about my mother. Cheers. Thanks for warping me for eternity.
Comment #2:
“Is self-love like the love between lovers or is it meant to be more like familial love?”
Oh, I can answer that. It’s like oiv[oi3n[pv0oinmvpoikefv[po[v0pi[309p;oibjv[oepijvg[ioej … bloody hell. Damn premature blindness.
I thank you.
26 October 2007 at 10:16 pm
I don’t have a lovely bosom. I hate you too. I hope you know where you’re going with all this, because it strikes me that you could end up with no friends left if you carry on in this vein.
Not that it will matter because you’ll be perfectly happy showering your lovely bosom with self-love. Damn.
26 October 2007 at 11:27 pm
Yeah me too!
26 October 2007 at 11:42 pm
I knew that my comment on your last post, where I confessed to having impossibly perfect and enormous breasts got you thinking…. about my breasts, of course.
Where are we travelling next? I’m so excited! Please do my belly button next!
It’s all about me, right?
27 October 2007 at 9:10 am
AUW: Do not have so many comments. You’ll spoil your dinner. And do not worry, this post is not about you, because…
Z: I’m sorry, did I neglect to mention how this post was really all about you?
Lillipilli: Yes, you too, Lilli. This post is all about you.
Bohémienne: Right, of course. This post is really all about your impossibly perfect breasts.
*phew* A blogger’s work is never done…
27 October 2007 at 9:10 pm
I had a breast tragedy. Full, gorgeous C-cups. And then I stopped taking the birth control shot and started running seriously at the same time. And then they were B’s.
I refused to have sex for over a year, because I thought I was disfigured and ugly. Then I quit running, and they grew back halfway.
I’m okay with them now. So I say, breast-self-love is a good thing! We should all do more of it!
28 October 2007 at 9:39 pm
Marcelle Manhattan: Speaking of breast-self-love (ha!), have you ever had a professional fitting? I’ve heard many a 34B was really a 32DD(!) all along. Which proves it’s all a matter of perspective, you know?
28 October 2007 at 11:24 pm
And I thought I was the only one to do this…
I also have the habit to play with my boobs in front of others without realizing it. Example: When the boys first moved in with me and we’d be sprawled out in the sofa watching whatever was on the telly, I’d look down and notice my boobs and then poke them. I’d see it jiggle and I’d giggle and repeat. I look up and notice that they are watching me. So I say, “You’re just jealous you don’t have some of your own to play with.” They both sadly agreed.
Boobs = fun.