Those Big, Funny Looking Things

No apologies, but I've been thinking about breasts. The fake kind - those big, funny looking things. I've been trying to get my head around them, but I can't, quite. They're just not right. For whose benefit are they? The owners or the viewers?

They look so uncomfortable. If I were a woman, and was laying down, ready for a good night's sleep, I'd be bothered by these things that never relax.

Do the viewers who admire them suspend belief or is it like so many things in our culture where man-made trumps nature. Why go to the park when you can visit Nature World?

As far as I know, I've never touched one - but they can't feel right. Not for either party. But I guess, like most things, you get as good as you give.

Dinner Conversation

She and I were having dinner the other night at Pasteur where the food and the atmosphere were both excellent. The bill was a little high but that was okay. Over dinner she said, I want to ask you a question, which isn't a lead-in that generally leads into anything good. She said, How come you never write about me in your blog? I mean, maybe just a mention?

The question was better than my answer which was along the lines of what I write about needs a context, or that I need to have a first line, or the idea of a first line. Some writerly crap like that. She seemed skeptical which I can't blame her. Except it's the truth - I do need an entry point - a way in which may lead who knows where, but at least I have my foot in the door.

And here it was. The context - the way in. Her question - over dinner. Why don't you ever mention me?

Except for newsy things, I tend not to write about things until years have passed and the events have had time to filter through into something that makes sense. I'll sometimes use a real event or conversation in fiction, but only long after it happened, and probably not at all like it actually happened except the truth of it is still there. Sounds like more writerly crap, I know.

So probably in three years or five years she will be all over my fiction. The way she sleeps with her arms and her legs all spread out - like she's flying or swimming - some wild movement a long way from sleep. Or the way she smiles when she finally wakes up, and waking up takes her awhile. And how that smile is big enough to light up the room as well as my heart. I'll have to get that smile in a story.