I’m afraid I can’t stop thinking about Dr Jack Monroe’s breasts.
I know that as an ex-lesbian-turned-self-declared-trans-activist this probably isn’t what she wants to hear from a middle aged cis-gendered male.
I know she’s not a real doctor, it’s just an honorary title given her by some barmily PC university and has no more validity than the title I’m about to insist you use with me from now on, viz. His Sublime Magnificence The God Emperor Lord Delingpole VC DSO and bar.
I know she wasn’t christened Jack – it’s just a name she invented for herself because she didn’t like the sweet, more feminine her parents gave her, Melissa.
And I know that everything I’ve said may violate her safe space, as she’d probably call it, or as I’d call it, seriously get on her tits.
But it’s hardly my fault, is it? She started it. If Dr Jack Monroe didn’t want people to start obsessing about her breasts, then she really shouldn’t have published an article claiming “to have been awake at night researching a double mastectomy on the internet.” Nor should she have mentioned how enormous they were – double-Ds, apparently – nor how much pleasure they apparently gave those girlfriends lucky enough to enjoy them when she was still a practising lesbian.
“I fancy GIRLS, babe, GIRLS”, a former flame is said to have told her – and I know just how that ex-girlfriend feels.
Not only do I fancy girls but I’ve long had an especial fondness for girls who look like boys. It’s a sublimated gay thing, probably, which is yet another reason, I think, why I feel such a special bond for Dr Jack Monroe. If I weren’t married and I were a few years younger and Dr Jack Monroe had been to a decent university and had had a personality transplant and her dad owned a stables with a few hunters and she wasn’t a vegetarian whose speciality was kale pesto, I honestly, seriously believe that she would have made the perfect wife for me.
That, I think, is why I’m feeling so protective towards her breasts and why I’ve been so disturbed by the news that she has been considering lopping them off in order to make some political point which I’m afraid I don’t quite understand, having been born into a generation which tends to be a bit queasier than hers about acts of self-mutilation. (Well, apart from the man who chopped his ears off to make himself look more like his beloved parrots. But I’m not sure he’s necessarily representative).
Anyway, I was wondering if any else out there felt the same way and whether anyone might care to join me in urging Dr Jack Monroe not to do anything rash with her bosoms. It would be like drowning a sack of puppies; or cutting their noses off, at least; something not quite right, anyway.
Perhaps, if someone were so minded, we could initiate a petition on Change.org. Or, as it ought more properly to be known in this case, Notchange.org.