The Other side of your cleavage…

I’ve recently moved to Singapore and discovered that my self-professed sense of being a boob girl has been rocked, choked and quite frankly almost disturbed because of new affliction or dysfunction rather, of my retinas.

Point blank - I’ve never seen so many boobs on show in my entire life. This is warm climate I’ll give it that, and when you’re in the tropics you need to wear light clothes, but I ask you this - do woman really need to have our puppies on show all of the time?


Breast, norgs, boobs, fun bags, puppies, peaches, tits, airbags, jugs, bazookas, hooters, melons, pillows, headlights, stealing peanuts, pancakes…. Crickey, how many names are there for boobs these days? Tell me what I’ve missed??


I’ve come to the conclusion I do have a problem; I’m tall and I live in the tropics. This combination is a complete disaster! Not only do I tower over a world of people so I instantly stand out, but even if I did want to get them out, no one would get to see them in all their splendour! I am a tower, born in high heels, therefore it means I’m constantly looking down - and bam, there they are, right there, all the time, bazookas, big guns, everywhere – e-v-e-r-y-where I turn. I’m constantly neck bending right down at these wobblers. It was time to buy some blinkers to shield me from these bubbles of flesh.


Now, I’m a liberal woman and like I said, a self confessed lover of the cupcakes, but it’s like anything - too much of it and you just need a break! I love mine, I truly do, I think they are beautiful, hours of entertainment and actually if the truth be known when I’m talking on the phone (not at work that is) I generally cup one in my hand, kind of like a safety blanket thing. I have definitely been in denial with a self belief I’ve got a good rocking set, when in reality they are not what you’d call sort after cream pies, but hey, I was recently complimented on their beauty which made my day. My point is - that compliment was behind closed doors and in the darkness of my boudoir! (Well no it wasn't actually, it was on my balcony - whoops I am going to get arrested in this city) but it was a private moment. Private. Private. Private. Just he and I (well the girls were there too of course!). Behind closed doors. It wasn’t like my puppies walked in the door and then I followed 3 days later.


But I have a problem, I can’t stop looking at these big peaches – they are in my face all the time it’s doing my noodle in.


The other side of this is that I am convinced my friends and other people I am getting to know think I’m a raving leso because I can’t help but look at all these norgs. I think it’s an epidemic in Singapore up there with the latest strain Swine Flu.


To be fair I’ve lived in two very conservative countries - Australia and England. In short, if you have your jugs on show in Australia you’re labelled a cheap slut and talked about like you’ve been the town bike. And let’s be honest, the English are the most repressed culture and did invent the twin set and pearls let’s not forget. Having said that, my English sisters would be on that balcony hours before I can even get the bloody door open with their love muffins out for a midnight jolly. Have you ever had the pleasure of seeing what 3 pints of cider can do?


Woman all over the world have got their breasts out for pleasure. The Sun Newspaper (in the UK) is world renowned for its page 3 teenage bare beauties, claiming to have 4 million readers a day – that’s 8 million eyes all looking at these iced up torpedoes every morning with their star bucks (hmm, coffee and bits, now there is an idea?) That newspaper made Samantha Fox a millionaire as well as that ditsy slapper Jordan, or Katie or whatever her striper name is? Even my dearest friend Catherine, who we all thought was a quiet achiever when we were growing up was famous for getting her little lovebirds out for a song; she actually had Bernard Fanning sign an autograph in black permanent marking pen right across her jumbos which to her delight, could not be rubbed off for weeks.


The other side of this got to thinking about what this does for men? Is there a world of men knocking one off in bathrooms all over Singapore because of this hooter feast that is sweeping the nation? (Don’t answer that) Or is this just what makes men smile and wave and lead us chicks to be none the wiser, when actually these knockers are the perfect lead in to other sexual thought – what’s the statistic, men think about sex every 8 seconds? Could these Singapore men, expat or otherwise be constantly steamy minded, every 8 secs? Well I tell you highly likely with this much honkytonks on show, let me give you the mail. Crickey, no wonder they can’t multi task.

“Hmm, must call Bob, hmm, boob…. “

“I don’t think sending 30,000 more troops to Afghanistan is the going to be a sustainable solution… hmmm nice warheads, oh love to get face in those”

“This burger is the business… hmm juicy meatballs”

It’s kind of like the boobadiction of Homer Simpson (screw the donuts!)

I'm sure by now you get my drift; no wonder woman an men are so different… in that time woman would have compiled a list of the shopping she needs to do, made 3 phone calls, sent 6 sms’s and logged on to Facebook and made some biennial comment about what she is doing right now!

Anyway, a group of experts did a study on this theory – check out link below, some interesting stats on the male mind and the constant sex antics that rattle around inside those wonderful noggins of theirs… Mars and Venus baby!

http://www.snopes.com/science/stats/thinksex.asp


I shared my “Singapore isn’t big enough for me and all of these fabulous floppers” struggle with my friend Brian and he thought that it was a case of my male side roaring it’s ugly head, and that he assured me he looked at them apples all the time too. Hmm, what’s the problem with this picture? Notwithstanding the fact that I took some comfort in this new found commonality with Brian and hey, we definitely bonded over the issue …. it didn’t make sense because what was happening was that all of my blind sightings of the twin peaks were making me go off them all together – I was like a baby desperate for formulae! Bugger, that theory of Brian’s was out the window and there was certainly no 3-second rule going on with me on the milk bottle vision.


I even had a chick crack on to me recently, which I put down to the universe was testing the theory that could I be a lesby friend? Because let’s face it, the other side to all of exulting stares of Singapore’s finest mammories is most likely a popular opinion that I could in fact be a lover of the ladies and was just struggling to admit it. But alas, the courting episode with this woman just didn’t rock my boat, in fact it kind of made me feel queasy and these luscious legs couldn’t speed me away fast enough. There goes that fantasy of a threesome! (Well, never say never….) But hey, it wasn’t my bag and nor were hers. Maybe she just wasn’t my type anyway! However, if some hot chick like Scarlet Johansson cracked on to me I’d say game on… but hey, I’m not Penelope Cruz and this isn’t Vicky Christina Barcelona (check out this clip, who wouldn’t!!)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1KQgR9OHKVM


Still curious as to what was happening with me with these boobalious moments, I went to my counsellor for a realistic chat. If my sexuality wasn’t evolving because I was turned off by so many bonbons, then what was it? I needed some resolution or answer as to why I was constantly looking at fruit platters, melons, mangos, coconuts e-v-e-r-y-where… what was it? After much discussion, we came to the simple answer – if they’re out, they’re saying hello – and when you say hello it’s a greeting, it’s saying hey, how you doin’ right? So in other words, wanting some attention, or stop looking you found me??? People want them to be looked at. And naturally most people just do. Man or woman. So who am I not to accommodate? It all of the sudden seemed too simple. Maybe it’s the repressed posh Aussie in me – after so many years of denial, it was time to appreciate them in all their wonder!



Regardless of my simple resolution, I’ve turned a corner, I feel safe in the knowledge that I love men and we can all live happily ever after in the mutual love of the bosom.

We woman are blessed with a beautiful body, wonderful shapes and curves and swidgy bits (or airbags) and should wear it all loud and proud. Our leaders should create a National Boob day! Obama, there’s your next challenge….



Happy watching,



The Big Sheila.