I was going to write about BOOKS and bloody autocorrect changed it to BOOBS and thank the sweet goddesses because whom amongst us reads books anymore anyway.
My reading has taken a severe dip.
This is not a good thing. In fact, it makes things awkward.
Yesterday I had lunch with a group of amazing women, each one more beautiful than the next, delicious food and champagne and cake and oh beautiful shoes and lipstick and great tits, and – we spoke about books.
All these women read. A lot. Non-fiction, fiction, poetry, short stories, plays, thick books, thin ones, well-written ones, thrillers, erotica, everything books.
So when our favourite authors came up, I kind of lied and said ja, I love Margaret Atwood and Jonathan Franzen (I hate Jonathan Franzen, so uptight) and then I mumbled a little about Knausgaard (I hate bloody Knausgaard) and then I thought, ugh, let me just be honest.
‘You know, I don’t read nearly as much as I used to,’ I admitted. ‘I watch a lot of Netflix and also social media has fucked everything up. I scroll through Facebook and Twitter, the articles I read are from GQ and Vogue, Vogue in particular…’
This is a little like my father who used to tell me he read Playboy for the articles.
But these women are amazing women and nobody judges and anyway everyone is a social media addict and so we moved happily on to magazines.
I got all excited about the last article I’d read which was about boobs. It was a NY Post article, so yeah, I read the NY Post too.
Anyway, books were no longer important.
Because we learned that Big Boobs Are Back In Fashion!
Kim Kardashian has them, Rihanna has them and actually thank goodness and bless the beautiful Gods of Tits , we all have them too.
I would’ve liked to join in the chit chat about literary festivals and Shakespeare and so on and so forth and people I’ve never heard of.
So now I’m reading.
Except. I’m obsessed with my boobs. Are they big enough, should they be bigger, are big boobs the new avocado, what colour are my nipples, pink or red, how’s the shape, I think they’re still pretty cool, perky and I know, I know, I should just read a fucking book instead.
Reading is sexy.
I’m taking out my book. Page 23.
I’m playing with my boobs. Size 34.
It’s good. It’s wonderful.
It’s pleasurable reading.
Take off your bra.
Get your book.
Check out your boobs. Watch Netflix at the same time.