The Epiphany Of Ta-tas

— Wednesday, November 15th, Personal

I have not had an amazing week, so far. Over the weekend, I found a program at a nearby community college that would open me up for an industry I’m interested in and have been trying to learn more about for a long time. For about 48 hours, I thought I had found my next step in my professional development and career and life and whatever. It was close to my job, required an appropriate amount of dedication, and was cost effective. I had my sister look at the course schedule, and she let me know that the program would be a complete waste of my time and money. With a single fell swoop, I was bitch slapped right back to square one. Strike 1.

My fiance was at work until about 9:30 PM last night. Apparently I misunderstood a number of conversations we have had, and teaching only gets better after the first ~3 years if you are teaching the same curriculum consistently. We are in year 1 and she works ~12+ hour days sometimes. Strike 2.

Finally, the earth is a churning, frothing mire of injustice and woe. My partner and I are on several timelines that we lack the fiscal ability to complete, which will probably mean we will not get to achieve any of our goals in the next critical 5-10 years, leaving us too old to have children, re-enter the job market if need be, or change any meaningful aspect of our lives. Life as we know it will devolve, the very land we live upon will fall to swamp, and the shrieking of the crows at night will keep us from sleep as they post a vigilant watch, waiting for our mortal bodies to falter so they might feast on our soft flesh. Everything I create is meaningless. I am meaningless. Life is a dark curtain falling on your dreams. Strike 3.

As I was hauling this lifeless skin bag of emptiness to work, however, something happened. Something that I did not, could not possibly have anticipated. It did not fix my problems, nor did it make me feel any better about the lost opportunity. Yet, I am willing to admit that, occasionally, “God”, by which I mean Lilith, goddess of all Less Impressive And Probably Fatter Older Sisters, works in mysterious ways.

As I was coming around a corner, I passed a large semi-trailer truck on my right. I had the truck in my peripheral vision, and did not glance at it until I was just about to pass its rear end. There, by some fortuitous influence, happenstance conjured my eyeballs to twitch eastward, and there it was, written by agile fingertip in the dust thereupon, the missive:

“Boobies”

BOOBIES, it read. Boobies, and Boobies alone. Scrawled in a furtive hand alongside the edge of the truck. In an instant, I was filled with the orange gold milk of human kindness. It siphoned into my lungs and I was breathing it, heaving it throughout the car like the sparkling flame of a Elysian dragon. I could not believe my good fortune at having gazed upon this singular word, communicated through the medium of earth and time like a whisper spoken through the ages. Who among us had the gumption to pen such a script? To have written the word “Boobies”, the most perfect iteration, in this instance, of that trope – surely the author was nothing less than deity, clothed in human form.

First of all, this painter of light had chosen to write the full word out instead of opting for the classic demonstration of boobies, ie, two O’s with dots in the middle to represent the nipple. A classic icon that surely we all would have acknowledged, but this creator pushed their boundaries not one, but two steps forward! Because, as I’m sure you’ve already realized, the next logical step up from the graphical representation of the breast is simply the word “boobs”. Guttural and utilitarian, “boobs” (or possibly “BOOBS”) stands alone. No further information is necessary with a invocation such as “BOOBS”. The word is a monosyllabic declarative statement all on its own.

Then, like the fragrant winds of spring, came Boobies.

Boobies was the term selected, and it’s Boobies we celebrate here. Boobies is playful, impish, informal, and affectionate. Boobies sweeps you up in a gay romp, lacking the neglectful nature of the graphical boob representation, but also shirking the aggressive edge of BOOBS. Boobies is, simply, just right. Boobies is celebratory and triumphant. Boobies is the heraldic chime of a thousand royal trombones, glinting in the sun on coronation day. Spectacular, yet unassuming. Purposeful.

Sadly, no sooner had I laid my eyes upon it, the word was gone. I passed the truck. I of course considered slowing, with the intent to photograph this wonderful graffito, but it was 8 AM traffic and I was allowed no such luxury. Included here is an artist’s rendering of what I saw, even though you and I both know it will not do the experience justice:

A large truck, writ "boobies" in the dust on its rump

 

It was Willy Wonka who once said, “So shines a good deed in a weary world”, and no truer words have ever been written about my week. We’ll never know who wrote this perfect word in dirt on the back of that truck, just as we won’t know what the future has in store for us. The mysteries of the world are deep and wide and dark, and I am on a lonely quest. My goal is perhaps, in some small way, this post gave to you the same thrill of hope it gave to me this grey morning, when I first beheld it. I bring “Boobies” to the world. I keep none for myself.