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A Few Comments About What Constitutes A Boob     508 Words


I think I’m just about over the “shock and awe” of seeing Janet Jackson’s right breast.


I’ve seen breasts, starting in junior high gym class. And most women are perverse naturalists who, having charted the glacial migration of their own breasts to points in close proximity to their navels, are immune to shock.


So, no, ‘shock’ isn’t the operative word here. I think “ambushed” is more the word I’m looking for.


I don’t feel ambushed when I watch cable television. I’ve been told what to expect. My husband watches cable the way a small child anticipates an Easter egg hunt; each time a breast is exposed, it’s as if he’s found the chocolate egg.  And our kids know that ‘breast meat’ doesn’t just refer to chickens anymore.


But, I guess like millions of parents on Super Bowl Sunday, I had my hands off the breast buzzer thinking ‘hey, this is family entertainment’. Somewhere between the third beer and a nosedive into the chip dip there was the little falling out between Janet Jackson’s breast and her morals.


There I was, unsuspecting, ambushed by an errant boob, trying to explain to my preadolescent children that busting out in front of 90 million people is not a good idea.


‘Wardrobe malfunction’, my underwire bra! Only Victoria’s Secret would intentionally design that sort of breakaway option and I’m sure they only mean it to be for the HOME VERSION of half-time entertainment. I’d be willing to bet that any teenage male can give you the exact odds on that sort of malfunction occurring naturally, even with fervent prayer: exactly zero.


So now it appears that the only other exposed boobs are the titular executives at CBS, MTV and the NFL who should have seen this coming. And maybe should have considered that not everyone watching the Super Bowl is excited by leather, studs and crotch grabbing. Some of us actually prefer the beer commercials.


But I think through all the boob-la there are some important questions that millions of American women are waiting to have answered and that the media have failed to address: How do you get a 23-year old guy interested enough to rip off the clothes of a woman old enough to be his biological mother? And where do you buy a bustier that manages to keep a 37-year old boob on the north side of gravity when the suspension cable is ripped off by the aforementioned 23-year old?  


And, in spite of all, I think Janet Jackson deserves a big round of applause for her starburst nipple ornament. Who knew that jewelry was the answer to covering up those annoying breast-feeding stretch marks? If she tells me these ornaments come encrusted with jewels, I might actually have to ask my husband to buy one for me. After all, when my power suit explodes during that important corporate board meeting, I’ll need the dazzling, blinding reflection from the jewels to sear everyone’s retina while I run screaming from the room.  

2004 Nancy Franklin. All rights reserved