Breast isn't best for everyone
I can't look at social media at the moment without having a suckling baby clamped to a woman's boob thrusted in my face. It seems women everywhere have taken an animalistic act and turned into a feminist crusade.
I know mothers have nothing else in their lives, that's why they bore the tits off us with details of their little darling's nappy rash and bombard us with pictures of them... sitting. I wouldn't want to take away the only thing that forces their grey matter to work, but I'm gonna.
Ever since a woman was told to cover up in Claridges because she was breastfeeding during afternoon tea, there has been uproar on the internet about a woman's right to feed their child using their lady lumps in public. I too was publicly scorned when I expressed my disgust.
This woman is laughable. She suggests because I don't want women to get their norks out in public, I must be some sadistic Nazi who wants to murder children by depriving them of nutrients dispensed directly via its mother's hooters. I don't call her a sadistic Nazi who wants to deprive my body from expelling toxins - which has only one unpredictable method of execution. My point is this is also completely natural, not unique to me and has its place. In private.
The reason this debate keeps churning on is because women who have next to no adult conversation, spend all day cooped up with a creature who demands their attention 24/7 and want to feel part of society. And what better cause than 'I am woman, watch me feed'.
I'm sure nipping to Starbucks is a welcome escape from the tedium of early motherhood. However, they chose to have children. Everyone knows they're hard work and yet they still chose, after a couple of minutes of rubbing and sweating to incubate a foetus for 9 months, push out something the size of a watermelon out of something the size of a grape (which could result in hemorrhaging, varicose veins, incontinence, tearing and yes, discharge) then spend the rest of their lives being dictated to by someone who ultimately loathes them.
I'm choosing not to have children. I like swearing, sex, sun and swigging alcohol - all of which is severely hindered by having dependants. This choice means I can go to the pub, drink it dry, dance all night and get up to all sorts of mischief. This makes me a high-value customer to all service establishments. Mother's go to the pub, sit on a filter coffee for two hours, pollute the air with the smell of regurgitated milk and a sound worse than nails down a blackboard - a screaming baby.
If I paid around £100 for afternoon tea at one of London's most prestigious restaurants, I don't want my conversation interrupted by a crying child, nor do I want my opulent surroundings marred by the sight of prams and I certainly don't want the exquisite thoroughfare cluttered with changing bags and stickle bricks. I'm paying for a romantic memory, not a leaking mammary.
McDonald's exists so you don't have to take your children to places where grown ups go for adult conversation and adult behaviour. If you want the right to feed your child using human jugs instead of Tommee Tippee ones, then I have the right to suck my boyfriend off in the soft play area. Tit for tat.
Breast pumps have been invented so the general non-child wielding public don't have to deal with your life choices and body parts. You can still nourish your child with the fluid excreted from your love pillows without getting them out.
I shouldn't have to endure the result of your drunken fumble when I'm spending a lot of money socialising. I shouldn't have your progeny inflicted upon me when I'm in a public space that is quite clearly designed for adults. This movement is nothing but parental tyranny and it's udderly ridiculous.
First published 12/08/2015
I know mothers have nothing else in their lives, that's why they bore the tits off us with details of their little darling's nappy rash and bombard us with pictures of them... sitting. I wouldn't want to take away the only thing that forces their grey matter to work, but I'm gonna.
Ever since a woman was told to cover up in Claridges because she was breastfeeding during afternoon tea, there has been uproar on the internet about a woman's right to feed their child using their lady lumps in public. I too was publicly scorned when I expressed my disgust.
This woman is laughable. She suggests because I don't want women to get their norks out in public, I must be some sadistic Nazi who wants to murder children by depriving them of nutrients dispensed directly via its mother's hooters. I don't call her a sadistic Nazi who wants to deprive my body from expelling toxins - which has only one unpredictable method of execution. My point is this is also completely natural, not unique to me and has its place. In private.
The reason this debate keeps churning on is because women who have next to no adult conversation, spend all day cooped up with a creature who demands their attention 24/7 and want to feel part of society. And what better cause than 'I am woman, watch me feed'.
I'm sure nipping to Starbucks is a welcome escape from the tedium of early motherhood. However, they chose to have children. Everyone knows they're hard work and yet they still chose, after a couple of minutes of rubbing and sweating to incubate a foetus for 9 months, push out something the size of a watermelon out of something the size of a grape (which could result in hemorrhaging, varicose veins, incontinence, tearing and yes, discharge) then spend the rest of their lives being dictated to by someone who ultimately loathes them.
I'm choosing not to have children. I like swearing, sex, sun and swigging alcohol - all of which is severely hindered by having dependants. This choice means I can go to the pub, drink it dry, dance all night and get up to all sorts of mischief. This makes me a high-value customer to all service establishments. Mother's go to the pub, sit on a filter coffee for two hours, pollute the air with the smell of regurgitated milk and a sound worse than nails down a blackboard - a screaming baby.
My value as a customer is much higher and therefore, in this capitalist society, I rule the roost.
If I paid around £100 for afternoon tea at one of London's most prestigious restaurants, I don't want my conversation interrupted by a crying child, nor do I want my opulent surroundings marred by the sight of prams and I certainly don't want the exquisite thoroughfare cluttered with changing bags and stickle bricks. I'm paying for a romantic memory, not a leaking mammary.
McDonald's exists so you don't have to take your children to places where grown ups go for adult conversation and adult behaviour. If you want the right to feed your child using human jugs instead of Tommee Tippee ones, then I have the right to suck my boyfriend off in the soft play area. Tit for tat.
Breast pumps have been invented so the general non-child wielding public don't have to deal with your life choices and body parts. You can still nourish your child with the fluid excreted from your love pillows without getting them out.
I shouldn't have to endure the result of your drunken fumble when I'm spending a lot of money socialising. I shouldn't have your progeny inflicted upon me when I'm in a public space that is quite clearly designed for adults. This movement is nothing but parental tyranny and it's udderly ridiculous.
First published 12/08/2015
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