Rudy’s Bar-B-Q and Conoco Station on Loop 360, the feed trough of which I darkened today with one of my pals. It was her first lunch out since her hysterectomy, which she had on accounta she inherited the fucking breast cancer gene, too. It just never ends.
I am delighted to report that, as of 7 PM Monday, 2,237 of you have somehow managed to refrain from sending me photos of your boobs. The number would be higher if I had realized sooner that I’d forgotten to put the Sitemeter code into this temporary blog template (yes, this is still the temporary. Don’t ask).
A special huzzah to the commenters, and two extra ones to the delurkers. Who knew there were so many different ways to describe the act of not sending a boob photo to a spinster aunt?
However, I feel the need to clarify one small point: Yes, I am extremely disturbed by Ms. Pollman’s Boobie-Thon. I don’t believe, as some people have suggested, that because they’re allowing “man-boobs” it’s somehow OK to objectify regular boobs (as the blamer knows, in a patriarchy all boobs are not equal). Neither can I imagine that “celebrating” boobs (I’d like to meet the person who celebrates a fucking ‘man-boob’) to fund yet another pink ribbon cause is not pretty fucking offensive to at least some actual mastectomy patients. HOWEVER, I am not endorsing a boycott of the Boobie-Thon fundraiser, or anything like it. Ms. Pollman is doing her thing, and I’m doing mine, and let’s leave it at that.