I’d always thought that female breasts were there for pleasure, things to enhance the sexual experience, to hang on to in times of woe, to look upon at the beach.
The experience of life is akin to the Juggernaut, which moved forward crushing devotees under its wheels. But in the case of life, the latter are illusions.
Nature is a brutal bitch, said the Poet. She hides dangerous truths from us until time and experience rips off the veil. To my horror, and very late in life, I discovered that breasts are really ‘mobile kitchens.’ Our ancient ancestors, the small mammals, developed a ready-made feeding system because it was far too dangerous to cruise around looking for food under the eyes of those big, terrible lizards.
I felt so cheated and have never looked on breasts the same way again.
I then asked myself why humans weren’t born from eggs. Dinosaurs again! Mammals couldn’t leave a breakfast cache lying around for the taking. And our ancestors were warm-blooded so they could forage for food in the cold nights whilst the lizards parked off.
For me, this has ruined everything. What heartbreak comes next?