The female human body remains the most mysterious yet exciting phenomenon since creation. A woman’s figure is sure to elicit a reaction, even from monkeys; something to do with some devil called pheromones.
Feminine contours turn artistes into poets and angels into demons. The figure of a full-grown woman is so powerful that it is known to bring down governments and lead kings to war. But with such power comes even greater responsibility. The fairer sex should, therefore, not feign ignorance on how much movement they cause by merely showing some skin.
I recently encountered a member of this species who is yet to receive the memo about being considerate to the rest of humanity. The new mother in her late twenties happened to sit at a table next to mine at a restaurant. She was accompanied by her husband and their baby on a pram. The couple was clearly the trendy kind, the ones that constantly share their good life on Instagram. They looked good together and I admired them. But that was until the baby cried and had to be attended to. The mother picked up the tot and without hesitation pulled out her left breast in full glare of humans, animals and spirits alike and handed it to the infant who was instantly contented.
So here I was, on a fine Sunday morning, enjoying a good book, when suddenly a huge, bright yellow breast in all its splendor popped out and blocked my view. What was I to do? The young mother seemed less disturbed by the stares from other women. The men just looked away and pretended not to take notice, though some kept stealing glances. Yet the husband was shockingly unmoved. He was too busy chatting on phone and taking selfies to realise that his family’s nakedness had been left unattended. A precious item that should, by all standards, be classified among valuable family jewels had found its way out of the safe, and the baby was now playing with it in front of strangers.
I almost walked over to offer the breastfeeding mum a napkin to contain the embarrassment I felt on her behalf. But I reconsidered that option when I remembered an incident in which my friend Jimmy almost lost his teeth. Jimmy had noticed a nasty wardrobe malfunction on a woman and decided to politely bring the same to the attention of the woman’s date. Wah! He was made to pay for seeing things he had no business looking at.
I elected to change location to a place devoid of babies or lactating mums. I would be safer there; not that I wouldn’t encounter females who equally make men uncomfortable in their seats. But at least these ones parading their huge thighs covered in very brief skirts understand what they are doing; they want to be watched and believe they have something to show. The breastfeeding mum, on the other hand, believes that since she has given birth, which is by no means a simple thing; she has lost her ability to feel embarrassed or ignite unintended thoughts in others.
Motherhood is sacred and, I believe, a very complex experience, so let us excuse the new mum. But should we extend the same benefit of doubt to the husband who fails to cover his wife’s nakedness? No we won’t. Your wife’s bare bosom, breastfeeding or not, is the last thing you want other men to be staring at.