Which were you? A Cindy or a Barbie girl? I’ll nail my colours and colour my nails: I had a Cindy doll, and found the big-boobed Barbie quite distasteful, at least until puberty.
After several agonising months as a twelve-year-old begging the blighters to grow and finally having reason to wear a Berlei double A cup bra, breasts became part of the body furniture. We all had them, (girls that is) more or less, and we could get on with the business of growing up. By sixteen I’d accepted that ‘voluptuous’ wasn’t a word that would be ascribed to me, saw an advantage if not a cleavage, and knew I wouldn’t fall out of a bikini if a big wave hit the beach. They never got in the way, never caused embarrassment, were good as gold.
When babies came along, they came into their own, even though it took a while to realise you need to feed yourself if you want the breasts to feed the baby. There was something wonderfully satisfying about placating a baby’s hunger and something immensely special about that closeness of nursing and nurturing. It always strikes me as odd that we live in a society where pictures of women’s breasts are everywhere, selling everything from newspapers to fast cars, yet we still feel awkward if a woman wants to discreetly expose a limited area of breast for their intended purpose of feeding a baby.
At this point we reach the subject of how breasts feature in our culture, from Reubens to Jordan. As a child I thought it wonderful that naked breasts should be on display above the fireplace of a friend’s house - I learnt that what I thought was rude was actually Reubens - and it probably sparked a long-term interest in art. Then there is Jordan (not, just to clarify, the sixteenth century Spanish artist but the twenty-first century one whose pictures regularly exhibit in ‘Hello’ magazine) with the cosmetically enhanced breasts she affectionately refers to as her ‘puppies’. I wonder what breed these would be? Labrador? Large, golden-brown and like being ...?
I used to think that the only thing I had in common with Katie Price was that we both liked riding - horses, of course - although she is a true expert, with masses of very varied experience. Me, I’m an amateur, can rise to the trot and once managed a few jumps before falling off. In matters equestrian I cannot follow her, but in matters canine, I can learn something about ‘puppies’.
I think I looked after my puppies, even though one sadly died. But hey, it’s Christmas and I have two now, and hopefully, this time, for life.
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