Memories and Mammaries
Do I Need To Slap You?
Before I get into commenting on everybody else’s rags, I thought I’d put in a few of my own. It’s been…let’s see…it’s been 21 years since my first divorce and 11 years since my second. Wow. Time does fly. Let me assure you, time heals. It really does. I have to dig really, really deep to access the pain, guilt and disappointment I felt 21 years ago. I have no contact with #1 and I know he’s moved on. He’s been married now longer than we were and they have a teenager – heck practically a college student I suppose. They should live and be well. I’m very sorry I have to be a smudgy blob in everyone’s memoirs, but I can’t do anything about it now.
It’s different with #2. We’re still in touch now and then. He married again – and divorced – and now he’s moving on (again). We didn’t work out as husband and wife, but we sure did have some great moments together, and as a result, I have some great memories. I’ve generally paved over the weepy ones.
But I happened to think about something the other night. And I don’t really want to get too graphic, but it struck me, and I was wondering if anyone else has this problem too.
I have two boobs, right? I mean, most of us do (except if we had to have one removed). So this is for the two-boob women. So you’re in bed with your husband, and you’re on the normal side of the bed for you and you start a little foreplay. So because you turn to each other a particular way, chances are his hand is always going to go to one particular boob first, right? Well I have TWO boobs. And it’s a little irritating to have only one boob caressed.
Early on in the relationship, before you settle into a routine, both boobs generally get some exploration – along with the rest of your topography. But later, it just seems that foreplay becomes more like a pre-flight check in an airplane: you twiddle a few knobs and levers in a routine order, 1-2-3, check, check, check - and then you taxi down the runway.
