Christmas Breasts

I've been thinking about breast experiences over the last couple of days.

It's a few days before Christmas and Christmas in Melbourne brings memories of shopping amongst crowds in hot weather. Each year I think back at Christmas episodes from years past that stand out in my memory.

When you have crowds and hot weather you have lots of breasts. Lots of summer frocks, singlet tops, t-shirts and sometimes, bikini tops.

There are many Christmas breast episodes in my memory bank. As soon as the Christmas shopping starts, and I have a chance to wind back a little from work the Christmas memories start flowing through my head. Most of them, of course don't specifically involve breasts, but many of them do.

In one sense the two are intricately linked. In the deepest recesses of my being, breasts evoke memories of being cared for and protected. Of a time, when I didn't have to worry about world affairs. Of a time when, if I was afraid at night, my mother would come to me and hold me. Of a time when Christmas was pure and simple joy and magic.

So, in one sense, breasts at Christmas evoke those deepest feelings.

And, as I complete my Christmas shopping these last two days have been very warm and breasts are everywhere. It has become an inseperable part of Christmas.

I can hear some who would say this is demeaning to both the sanctity of the Christmas season and to women.