They plaster boobs on posters in the Metro Stations. They sculpt firm and pointed breasts on their many statues. Even their history books are filled with images of their aristocratic ladies breasts.
No matter where you go in Paris, you are assaulted by ta-ta's. Strolling down the Champs Elysees, I nearly collided with a life-size poster of a naked and boob-jiggling dancing girl at Crazy Horse, one of the popular clubs in town.
At Luxembourg Gardens, former home of Catherine d'Medici, there are statues of the Queens of France lining the garden paths. Many of the queens are flashing a tit...or two!
Mothers on the Metro literally pull their shirts off to breast feed their babies.
Call me a prude, but I am not comfortable sitting next to a strange topless woman on a speeding train. I am a mother so I perfectly understand the desire to, and benefits of, breast-feeding. I think there should be no shame in suckling your child. But, please a modicum of modesty!
I finally could stand it no more. I plucked up the courage and asked a local why there was mammary-mania in Paris. Without a moment's hesitation, he gave me a saucy wink, and said, "Ah, but then this is gay Paree, ees it not? How do you think we got zo gay?"
Although his answer was capricious, it caused me to ponder Paris's Pectoral Passion. I looked carefully around me, from that point on, and do you know what I noticed? The only people staring at the nips were the tourists. The French barely seemed to notice, even the school-aged French. Perhaps they have become so accustomed to seeing boobs that they are desensitized; or, perhaps they see nothing wrong with exposing a lovely part of the female anatomy. Perhaps they have moved beyond shame and into acceptance and glorification. Hmm. Perhaps that is why their queens were painted topless.
I wonder why we are so hung up on covering our boobs in the United States? My mind starts to wander. Do most French women wear bras or does this liberation of the boob create anti-bra sentiments? Although there were a lot of lingerie shops in Paris, the windows were filled mostly with underwear. Does France have a lower percentage of sex crimes than America (I was unable to ferret this information on on the web)? I felt a lot safer riding the subway in Paris than I ever did riding the subway in Washington, D.C. or San Francisco.
My opinion shifts a tit...err...bit. Perhaps this boob thing isn't so bad? Then I imagine a few of our leader's ladies topless. A shiver runs through me. Can you see Barbara Bush posing for an official portrait, biting her famous pearls between her teeth while her breasts hang freely (and I do mean hang)? Or how about Hillary Clinton topless (does she even have boobs)? Prodigously frightening thoughts.
I finalize my opinion after I walk into a cafe in the Marais District and the breast-feeding Metro-riding Mom comes up to take my order. Ordering a coffee from this woman was not a comfortable encounter. "One cup...of coffee, please. Hold the milk...err...cream."