Pink Ribbon Meets Trilby

I was wondering when this day would occur. I knew it was coming but didn't realise it was actually upon us.

Aside for it being a Monday, I'm talking about Pink Ribbon Day!

While part of the reason I cheer is it gives me an excuse to pin something unexpected on my hat, I also proudly support it because it's something that not a lot of men seem to care about and… that's not just a shame, it's downright wrong.

I'm not saying that it's wrong for someone not to support the fight against breast cancer. You can believe in whatever you want and support whatever battles you like.

I'm saying that it's wrong for men not to support the pink ribbon if they really dig breasts themselves.

I mean hell, we've stared at them since we were maybe 8, confused because– wait, weren't these those useful things we used to suckle on when we were younger? –and now we find that all girls have them?!

What wonders!

So we stare, we pass a glance, we admire from a distance. We download pictures, drool in secret, as well as touch, grab, fondle, kiss and hope for slightly more interesting activities with a member of the family that we'd be arrested for if we so chose to show it in public. 

And we do it all for the love of the breast.

And if you're one of those people who loves the breast and all that it stands for, then you need to be supporting Pink Ribbon Day.

Without the breast, you'd just be another pile of dribbling slop.
The breast cements you.
The breast gives you reason to live.
It provides you with milk and enjoyment; it's like a cow that sings and dances.

Plain and simple, the breast is brilliant… and you need to support it. 

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