For Your (and by that I mean women) Eyes Only

Don't say I didn't warn you.

In case you haven't noticed by the inundation of pink (it was everywhere on every football game yesterday!) this month is Breast Cancer Awareness. And this is what I have to say about it:

There's no part of our bodies that we obsess about more than our breasts. You can't deny it. They are the bane of our existence (at least for those of us with stable minds and decent self-esteem.) We buy bras that lift and separate, or lift and coalesce; maximize and minimize; open in the front, back and top (that's a tribute to all the ugly nursing bras out there); we buy them with padding, water, gel, snaps, hooks, lace, wire and polka dots; we buy them in every shape, size and speciality; for t-shirts, sweaters, sports, ball gowns, lingerie and breastfeeding; we love them and hate them at the same time; we have surgeries to maximize, minimize, lift, symmetrize (I know, I made that word up) and remove; they can be perky (yeah right), lumpy, swollen, leaky, disproportionate, big, small, cone-shaped, balloon-shaped, strawberry-shaped, painful, bruised, tender, saggy, droopy; there's cleavage that looks more like sports balls and butt-crack and sometimes nothing at all. And now they've got cancer. So remember, make sure you see your doctor for that lovely, highly-anticipated annual check-up; don't forget to poke and prod them once a month; and by golly, you get those suckers x-rayed if your doctor so much as looks at them funny!