Bras are the bane of my life. Oh, hang on, sorry, men – look away now, this is a post about the real world of breasts. Not at all about the things that men think about breasts.
Bras are the bane of my life (did I mention that?). They have always been troublesome creatures. I understand what they are for. To hold tits. That’s fine. And especially for someone like me whose tits do need holding. So, failing having a nice lover to constantly follow me round holding my breasts in their cupped hands, I need a bra.
Now I’m wondering if one should choose one’s lover according to the size of their hands and whether or not their cupped hands are the correct cup size. If the cup fits, wear it. I can see a lot of the woes of the world might be solved if this were the case. After all, how many of us (all plus about ten) would like to know from the very outset of a relationship just whether we are compatible or not? Well, should this theory prove correct then the answer is before us all. Or at least attached to our chests. One simple test, which frankly could probably be done on the first date, or possibly anonymously, would tell us whether to bother or simply move on to a different-handed man.
I can’t believe no one has thought of this before. Just think of all the crap that’s talked about compatibility, shared interests, mutual trust, common culture, similar fetishes, and the love of architecture and/or kittens. Think of all the years of getting to know someone only to find out that you are completely mismatched. When all we had to do was say ‘grab my tits, there’s a dear.’ And all would be revealed.
Bras are the bane of my life (did I mention that?). The thing is – they just don’t fit. I don’t have those nice organised tits that are round and the nipples point semi-skyward. Never have. I have those sort of breasts that are more triangular and my nipples tend to like the view of my stomach more than my chin. So no matter which way I wadge them into a bra it’s all wrong. No longer. I have, after only a lifetime of searching, found the bra. It’s fantastic. It understands me. It understands that gravity exists. It understands my breasts, my breasts understand it. They are as mutually compatible as the aforementioned large-handed man and I are. I am in love. I look fantastic. My breasts, supported by this most magnificent piece of clothing, are no longer triangular but enormous and round.
The lawyer said ‘Mum, see, I told you you needed on of those bras.’ (hooray for the good advice of lawyers). The physicist said ‘Mum, your breasts look huge in that bra.’
The cat said ‘meow’. The beloved said ‘What are we talking about?’ The new lover with the large hands said ‘Take off that brassiere my dear’. Or was that Barry White?
Thursday 16 August 2007
Monday 13 August 2007
What Never to Feed Your Cat
There didn’t seem to be much wrong with snotty cat. In fact he wasn’t even snotty. He was obviously just on a diet. For he eschewed the usual offerings of Tesco ever-so-nice little sachets of food that to me looked so disgusting that for once I actually agreed with the cat on something.
Usually, you understand, cat and I are polar opposites when it comes to topics like: Politics - he believes in a dictatorship (him) whereas I tend towards pure anarchy. Religion – he believes in one god (him) whereas I tend towards a more agnostic point of view. Obviously when he proves once and for all that he is God I will acknowledge his deityness with all the usual show of bowing and prostration but until then I will attempt to remain simply respectful.
Childrearing – he believes children are for the provision of laps and extra food whereas I tend towards the provision of laptops and extra food.
Death – he is of the let’s only live 9 times school of thought whereas I have yet to decide.
And finally Food – he believes that food is the god-given right of every cat. You can see how his reasoning is flawed here because if he is God then he should be providing his own food. Yet I provide the food, ergo, I am God.
That small point of philosophy cleared up back to the cat’s diet. This is what happened:
Cat refuses Tesco food. I am surprised. Usually he eats anything.
Cat refuses food for a second time. I am more surprised
Cat refuses food for quite a long time. I assume he is on diet in preparation for his summer holiday next door.
Physicist comes back from holiday and comments ‘cat looking very thin.’ I nod knowingly. Yet small corner of doubt beginning to show. Physicist concerned re cat’s welfare.
I resort to buying Kitekat, whose slogan is ‘as good as it looks’. Shit then. Yet… cat eats it. Or rather the first meal of it. Then cat refuses even Kitekat.
Sister and nephew come to visit ‘cat looking very thin’ they comment. I nod knowingly. Some concern that the cat is going to die of starvation. I explain about possible forthcoming holiday and possible need to wear speedo and impress all the cats next door. Nephew explains that they feed their cat Whiskas.
Well, it is a well known fact that once you go down the slippery Whiskas slope there is no turning back. Once a cat has tasted Whiskas it will eat nothing else. They put something addictive in it (possibly cocaine, heroine or chocolate).
‘Yes,’ pipes up the physicist, ‘he likes Whiskas.’
‘WHAT?’ I exclaim ‘Who has been feeding him Whiskas?’
It transpires that whilst I was stranded by floods the beloved did. Judas. Finally I bow to the pressure of all members of family thinking cat is going to die.
He eats the Whiskas.
He eats more Whiskas.
He eats more and more Whiskas.
The bank balance plummets.
He has in fact starved himself to the point of near death in order to get his fix of Whiskas.
Never, never, never knowingly feed your cat Whiskas if you don’t want to starve yourself to near death by the whole of your grocery budget being taken up by expensive and addictive cat food.
In grateful thanks for all the Whiskas the cat shits on the bathroom floor. I may yet resort back to the going on holiday theory.
Usually, you understand, cat and I are polar opposites when it comes to topics like: Politics - he believes in a dictatorship (him) whereas I tend towards pure anarchy. Religion – he believes in one god (him) whereas I tend towards a more agnostic point of view. Obviously when he proves once and for all that he is God I will acknowledge his deityness with all the usual show of bowing and prostration but until then I will attempt to remain simply respectful.
Childrearing – he believes children are for the provision of laps and extra food whereas I tend towards the provision of laptops and extra food.
Death – he is of the let’s only live 9 times school of thought whereas I have yet to decide.
And finally Food – he believes that food is the god-given right of every cat. You can see how his reasoning is flawed here because if he is God then he should be providing his own food. Yet I provide the food, ergo, I am God.
That small point of philosophy cleared up back to the cat’s diet. This is what happened:
Cat refuses Tesco food. I am surprised. Usually he eats anything.
Cat refuses food for a second time. I am more surprised
Cat refuses food for quite a long time. I assume he is on diet in preparation for his summer holiday next door.
Physicist comes back from holiday and comments ‘cat looking very thin.’ I nod knowingly. Yet small corner of doubt beginning to show. Physicist concerned re cat’s welfare.
I resort to buying Kitekat, whose slogan is ‘as good as it looks’. Shit then. Yet… cat eats it. Or rather the first meal of it. Then cat refuses even Kitekat.
Sister and nephew come to visit ‘cat looking very thin’ they comment. I nod knowingly. Some concern that the cat is going to die of starvation. I explain about possible forthcoming holiday and possible need to wear speedo and impress all the cats next door. Nephew explains that they feed their cat Whiskas.
Well, it is a well known fact that once you go down the slippery Whiskas slope there is no turning back. Once a cat has tasted Whiskas it will eat nothing else. They put something addictive in it (possibly cocaine, heroine or chocolate).
‘Yes,’ pipes up the physicist, ‘he likes Whiskas.’
‘WHAT?’ I exclaim ‘Who has been feeding him Whiskas?’
It transpires that whilst I was stranded by floods the beloved did. Judas. Finally I bow to the pressure of all members of family thinking cat is going to die.
He eats the Whiskas.
He eats more Whiskas.
He eats more and more Whiskas.
The bank balance plummets.
He has in fact starved himself to the point of near death in order to get his fix of Whiskas.
Never, never, never knowingly feed your cat Whiskas if you don’t want to starve yourself to near death by the whole of your grocery budget being taken up by expensive and addictive cat food.
In grateful thanks for all the Whiskas the cat shits on the bathroom floor. I may yet resort back to the going on holiday theory.
Friday 10 August 2007
Order from Chaos – A Man’s Way
The beloved has decided to clear out the shed. The reason for this unprecedented move is yet to be revealed. It could be that he is following my good example, or that due to imminent divorce he intends to live in it (or that I should live in it), or that he has lost his glasses and suspects they may be in the far end of the shed. The aforementioned glasses are on his face but I hesitate to mention this as he doesn’t take kindly to my helpful suggestions.
So, the shed. Let me set the scene. It is a large shed in the world of shedness. It contains the detritus of many years of life. Most of the contents of the shed have arrived there at the end of a conversation that went like this:
‘What shall we do with this old cupboard/desk/unidentifiable object of unidentifiable purpose?’
‘Dunno’
‘It might come in handy one day.’
‘I’ll put it in the shed.’
And thus many items, now even less identifiable, reside in this bijoux little residence.
The beloved has decided to clear out the shed (did I mention that?). This is what happened:
Beloved goes, equipped with nothing whatsoever, up the steps, to the shed. He begins to extract objects from the shed. These objects include:
Cupboards that were one day going to come in handy
Bookshelves that were one day going to come in handy
Surf boards that were one day going to come in handy
Wasp’s nests that were one day going to come in handy
The lawn mower that one day might get fixed
The cat
The neighbour’s cat
The garden shredder which one day might get used
A hermit (or that could have been the beloved)
Bits of wood that were one day going to come in handy
Bits of plastic that were one day going to come in handy
Old electrical equipment that was one day going to come in handy
Bicycles
Things that I have no idea what they are and therefore could one day come in handy.
But this is the really cunning thing. What he decides to do with the above items. He has invented an outdoor shed that craftily surrounds the usual shed and has stored everything there. He has a degree in Planning and it really shows how there is no substitute for a good education.
I have taken some pictures of the new outdoor shed as the sheer innovation of the idea is bound to take off and I don’t want anyone asserting that they were the first when he might claim such accolades for himself.
So, the shed. Let me set the scene. It is a large shed in the world of shedness. It contains the detritus of many years of life. Most of the contents of the shed have arrived there at the end of a conversation that went like this:
‘What shall we do with this old cupboard/desk/unidentifiable object of unidentifiable purpose?’
‘Dunno’
‘It might come in handy one day.’
‘I’ll put it in the shed.’
And thus many items, now even less identifiable, reside in this bijoux little residence.
The beloved has decided to clear out the shed (did I mention that?). This is what happened:
Beloved goes, equipped with nothing whatsoever, up the steps, to the shed. He begins to extract objects from the shed. These objects include:
Cupboards that were one day going to come in handy
Bookshelves that were one day going to come in handy
Surf boards that were one day going to come in handy
Wasp’s nests that were one day going to come in handy
The lawn mower that one day might get fixed
The cat
The neighbour’s cat
The garden shredder which one day might get used
A hermit (or that could have been the beloved)
Bits of wood that were one day going to come in handy
Bits of plastic that were one day going to come in handy
Old electrical equipment that was one day going to come in handy
Bicycles
Things that I have no idea what they are and therefore could one day come in handy.
But this is the really cunning thing. What he decides to do with the above items. He has invented an outdoor shed that craftily surrounds the usual shed and has stored everything there. He has a degree in Planning and it really shows how there is no substitute for a good education.
I have taken some pictures of the new outdoor shed as the sheer innovation of the idea is bound to take off and I don’t want anyone asserting that they were the first when he might claim such accolades for himself.
handy new storage areas
the lawnmower's new home (note the ineffectualness of this device)
I’m thinking that I have a lot to yet learn in the mystic arts of chaos combat.
Sunday 5 August 2007
How to Fight Chaos in a More Outdoors Sort of Way
I decided enough was enough. I had to sort the garden. When I say garden I really mean jungle. It had reached the point where I could no longer reach any points whatsoever. Not even the patio two feet outside the door. More importantly, the physicist needed to sunbathe. And there is no sun in a jungle. Or sufficient jungle floor on which to lay out a sun-lounger. This is a big problem with the jungle and probably a contributory factor in why so many of our rainforests have been de-rainforested. To make way for crops of sun-loungers.
This is what happened:
I put on a pair of stout walking boots to protect broken foot which is still a bit broken. I put on a stout pair of trousers to protect against brambles, nettles and unknown dangers lurking in the jungle (I suspected there could be snakes, moose and possibly yet-to-be-discovered species of yet-to-be-discovered species). I put on a stout expression and set off welding a stout machete, a stout pair of heavy-duty loppers, and a stout wish that I had a JCB.
Five minutes later, having cleared the first few feet of foliage such that I could actually see a bit of sky I discovered that it was a nice day out. I exchanged the stout trousers for a small pair of pink shorts (the lawyer exclaimed ‘what are you wearing?’), the stout walking boots for a large bandage and some ancient sandals (the lawyer exclaimed ‘what are you wearing?’ again, just for emphasis I suspect), and the stout expression for some sunglasses and an MP3 player.
Thus I danced through the day, singing out of tune in a jolly manner, hacking, sawing, chopping and discovering things. These included:
A patio (I thought there used to be one)
A patio table sporting some rather stylishly mouldy coffee cups
A lot of weeds
A fallen tree
The cat
A pond (I’m not sure if we used to have that)
A number of the beloved’s discarded pieces of clothing (he knew they were somewhere)
The beloved’s glasses (he thought he used to have those)
Some slightly slug-eaten physics notes (she thought she used to have those)
The washing line sporting what used to be clean clothes that I had hung out before I broke my foot
The cat (again)
A lost and bewildered mountaineer (he stopped for a rest some eight weeks ago but couldn’t find his way out of the jungle)
A tiger (or that could have been the neighbour’s cat)
A large monkey (or that could have been the beloved)
A native (or that could have been the lawyer)
A native’s boyfriend
The cat (again)
Nine hours later I stood back to admire my work. What used to be a jungle was now a patio covered in:
A number of sun-loungers covered in:
A tiger (or that could have been the neighbour’s cat)
A large monkey (or that could have been the beloved)
A native (or that could have been the lawyer)
A native’s boyfriend
A lost and bewildered mountaineer (now enjoying a cup of tea)
A paddling pool containing the physicist (investigating classic Archimedean displacement)
A patio table sporting some rather stylish soon-to-be mouldy coffee cups
A number of the beloved’s discarded pieces of clothing
A number of the lawyer’s discarded pieces of clothing
A number of the lawyer’s boyfriends discarded pieces of clothing
A number of the physicist’s discarded pieces of clothing
A number of discarded pieces of clothing that were hard to attribute an owner to
The beloved’s glasses
The cat
A day well spent creating order from chaos I think.
This is what happened:
I put on a pair of stout walking boots to protect broken foot which is still a bit broken. I put on a stout pair of trousers to protect against brambles, nettles and unknown dangers lurking in the jungle (I suspected there could be snakes, moose and possibly yet-to-be-discovered species of yet-to-be-discovered species). I put on a stout expression and set off welding a stout machete, a stout pair of heavy-duty loppers, and a stout wish that I had a JCB.
Five minutes later, having cleared the first few feet of foliage such that I could actually see a bit of sky I discovered that it was a nice day out. I exchanged the stout trousers for a small pair of pink shorts (the lawyer exclaimed ‘what are you wearing?’), the stout walking boots for a large bandage and some ancient sandals (the lawyer exclaimed ‘what are you wearing?’ again, just for emphasis I suspect), and the stout expression for some sunglasses and an MP3 player.
Thus I danced through the day, singing out of tune in a jolly manner, hacking, sawing, chopping and discovering things. These included:
A patio (I thought there used to be one)
A patio table sporting some rather stylishly mouldy coffee cups
A lot of weeds
A fallen tree
The cat
A pond (I’m not sure if we used to have that)
A number of the beloved’s discarded pieces of clothing (he knew they were somewhere)
The beloved’s glasses (he thought he used to have those)
Some slightly slug-eaten physics notes (she thought she used to have those)
The washing line sporting what used to be clean clothes that I had hung out before I broke my foot
The cat (again)
A lost and bewildered mountaineer (he stopped for a rest some eight weeks ago but couldn’t find his way out of the jungle)
A tiger (or that could have been the neighbour’s cat)
A large monkey (or that could have been the beloved)
A native (or that could have been the lawyer)
A native’s boyfriend
The cat (again)
Nine hours later I stood back to admire my work. What used to be a jungle was now a patio covered in:
A number of sun-loungers covered in:
A tiger (or that could have been the neighbour’s cat)
A large monkey (or that could have been the beloved)
A native (or that could have been the lawyer)
A native’s boyfriend
A lost and bewildered mountaineer (now enjoying a cup of tea)
A paddling pool containing the physicist (investigating classic Archimedean displacement)
A patio table sporting some rather stylish soon-to-be mouldy coffee cups
A number of the beloved’s discarded pieces of clothing
A number of the lawyer’s discarded pieces of clothing
A number of the lawyer’s boyfriends discarded pieces of clothing
A number of the physicist’s discarded pieces of clothing
A number of discarded pieces of clothing that were hard to attribute an owner to
The beloved’s glasses
The cat
A day well spent creating order from chaos I think.
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