Breasts
I sat in on a breast reduction today. It was one of the most upsetting things I’ve seen to date. Breasts are socially, historically, physically things of such beauty. To see one in ribbons was awful. The once big plump orbs now turned inside out with a nipple sadly attached in a flimsy manner, hanging on by a thread of flesh. (Don’t worry, they put the breast back together and it looked normal-ish again.) But it was still so sad. In tatters. I unconsciously kept clutching my own, much to the amusement of the surgeon.
“Don’t worry, there would be no point reducing those bee-stings… In fact, I’m sure if we gave you an anti-histamine they’d disappear altogether.”
Apparently that’s not inappropriate because the surgeon was a woman.
It was still pretty mean though.
And that’s another thing, everyone in the room was a woman. I felt a bit like I was on an episode of Star Trek where Spock and Kirk had found themselves on a strange amazonian planet only populated by hyper-intelligent female beings. It seemed futuristic in a sixties-fantasy sort of way and everyone’s boobs seemed more pointed.
