As far back as I can remember I have always loved boobies. Breasts and I go way back to the pre-pubescent years. I must have been a little over seven years old because that was the only time I could have agreed to something as mundane as being a page boy. It was my father’s cousin’s wedding and his wife to be had asked me to be play the role after complimenting my mother on what a cute boy I was. In retrospect, she was not too bad herself albeit that is in my eight year old mind. I stood no chance in that way, to echo a famous Kenyan politician’s words;
“What she was doing to me was like raping a woman who was already too willing…” (Kiraitu Murungi, Justice Minister 2005)
Anyway, that distasteful remark notwithstanding, I attended the wedding as a page boy. I recall vividly that morning dressing up for the day under the doting eye of my mother. Seeing as how I was the only page boy, I dressed up in the same room as the brides maids. I was embarrassed at first, but it wane upon realising that they paid me no mind. If memory serves, that was the point in my life where everything made sense. I realised why I never fancied girls my age. They never had boobies.
The bridesmaids, then in their late teens and early twenties were all clad in matching turquoise petticoats; the kind that had a contrasting embroidered seam at the bottom. A few of them, the prude ones I suppose had bras on, but the majority had none. I remember marvelling at the magnificence of these organs that seemed to defy gravity with such nonchalance that Isaac Newton would have wept at the spectacle. I was a fly on the wall, backstage in the girls’ dressing room before a big event. Ladies, ask any straight man- that is nirvana.
My mother, after admiring her handiwork for what seemed like ages, then put me in the care of one busty bridesmaid whose name eludes me, but for the sake of conversation let us call her Lucy. Lucy was sweet, she thought I was cute too and she went on further to promise my mother that I was in good hands. Indeed I was, she had what I now know are 40 D-cups, folks…I was safe from whatever adversity the world may have brought on even a full blown nuclear holocaust.
Allow me if you may, fast forward this story to 2002 when I first watched Swordfish. The movie was a financial success despite that fact that John Travolta won a Razzie Award for worst actor. In my opinion, John Travolta, Hugh Jackman and Vinnie Jones stood no chance co-starring with Halle Berry. The last nail on the coffin was hammered by a scene in the movie that I think is inarguably the best nude scene in history. Ginger played by Halle Berry is caught by the character of Hugh Jackman sunbathing topless. Thus this became the SI unit for boobies in my life, boobies were awarded in regard to how close or far they came to looking like those.
I have seen a fair share of boobies in my life, in person or otherwise. The lesson I have taken away is we can either be shiny and admired or we can be real and loved. I sincerely think that boobies are living proof that heaven is place on earth. Nothing is like a boobie in this world, and that ladies and gentlemen, is power.