Mastectomy.....

A few minutes ago Amanda sent me an email with pictures of mastectomy scars, she was very upset by these images, stating that if she has to bear such scars, she will vomit and faint. She is very scared of this outcome. I try to understand, but being a man (a sensitive one, that can shed a tear or two) I don't mind the thought of having a now vestigal part of my anatomy removed if it were cancerous (no, it is not vestigal!!!). As I see it, boobs are great when you first meet them.... but then you have seen them a million times. Then as you lovely ladies age, they make their way south, and will eventually begin to look like a caucasian version of some of the tribe's women of the South American rainforests.

I first saw Amanda when I was 21 years of age, she was filling her car with petrol, at a little garage in Port Erin on the Isle of Man. I was driving past, and commented on her superb posterior to my best buddy. I drove around the block hoping to 'construct a meeting' in the little shop where she would be paying for her fuel. I walked in and grabbed some chewing gum (my comedic long hair sitting on my shoulders!) and stood behind her. Not too close Mark, I told myself.... Don't want to give the wrong impression.... Well not just yet anyway. She turned, and our eyes met, I said 'Hi' and smiled, I was petrified, and that's where it ended until the following Saturday. There she was sitting at the bar of a very classy establishment, called, The Falcon. This was where the ladies of Port Erin could pick themselves up a footballer, albeit one who played for one of the local villages or towns, who had to pay £3 to play each week. The lads would stagger around, chests out, surveying their prey..... Horrible to look back on. Anyway, I wasn't like that! I WASN'T!!! I saw Amanda at the bar, and gently approached. I stood near her, then edged closer until I was probably almost sitting on her knee. I concentrated on structuring a suitably impressive coherent introduction, that would match the hair and shiny purple shirt (Good God!!!). Well she didn't run, or look at me in disgust, which meant I wasn't too drunk, and probably not slurring. We chatted, I was smitten. She was kind enough to give me a lift back to my parents house that night too. I tried my best to be naughty, but she was a very good girl. I liked that. Anyway, this is titled mastectomy, and I've gone off on one again. I love Amanda for who she is.... and her bum cheeks, the very same ones that I spotted at the petrol pumps that first meeting. I couldn't give a monkeys about her boobs, or boob for that matter!

In addition to the pictures she sent me, I sent her one back to give her some artistic ideas for the future.

She pointed out that this picture was unrealistic..... She's right.
I'm sorry babe x