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Reflections on Beatrice Arthurs Bosom

In the news lately was the tempest-in-a-teapot over a twenty year old painting of actress Bea Arthur topless, when she was in her sixties.

Of all the ills our era suffers from, we have been spared the horrors of a shortage of  images of womens breasts . Civic minded ‘artists’, relentless photographers, and  desperate editors, strive tirelessly to insure that no one can travel from stoop to curb without being smacked in the face with the newest proof that Ms._______ does indeed have a BOSOM, as do three and a half Billion of her sisters on this sad, old Earth. Having seen countless thousands of these proofs over my lifetime, I can state authoritively that they look remarkably similar to each other.

In the early sixties, there was a movie, the title escapes me, about a man married to the worlds foremost Bikini model. He never saw her fully clothed; she was either in a bikini for a photo shoot or lounging around the house nude or nearly so.
He was the envy of every man.
He spent his time daydreaming of her dressed in long flowing  gowns, or bright sun dresses, once I think dressed as a Nun.
It is the ancient curse of Man that he yearns for what he does not have, and tires of what he does.

There is an odd passage in the Bible, Proverbs I think;
“Be content with the breasts of the wife of your youth.”

To the great relief of artists, photographers and desperate editors, people don’t read the Bible much anymore.

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The Shape of Illusion