Today in New York

I walked outside this morning and licked my index finger and then held it aloft. I plucked a few blades of grass and let them drop to the ground, watching their motion. I stuck my finger in a mysterious white powder and placed it on the end of my tongue, swirling it around and spit it out. I leaned close to the ground and smelled some dog-poo and listened to the distance clip clop of shoes.

I have enough data, and I can announce it. Today is the day we have been waiting for, it’s the day we struggle to remember in the darkest of winter overcoats and knitted sweaters. This is the day we have longed for since September made 51% of us hide the very thing that 49% of us live for.

Today is Breast Liberation Day.

We forget. We think, ‘I know what breasts look like, I have internet access and I watch VIP at 2 in the morning on TNN. Breast Liberation Day can’t be as amazing as I remember’.

But it is. It’s breath-taking. If you are a man who lives with a woman with a remarkable rack, it doesn’t stop you from being hopeless today. BLD is the day we reach down in front of us, grab on with both hands, and lift our libidos up on to our shoulders like three weeks of wet laundry. It isn’t a burden we ask for, it isn’t something we can avoid. Our DNA takes control, and we don’t even have the option of acquiescence, we simply follow, stuttering and stumbling like drunks at a friends wedding.

There are father’s and lesbians with children fighting in Iraq who, for minutes at a stretch, forget all about them today. Conversations are useless, packed trains are visual orgies, the indoors become a punishment, air conditioning is counterproductive. We fumblingly suggest that it is hot in herre. We spend all our energy not looking at women’s breasts when they talk to us.

And remember, BLD is not just about breasts. There are skirts, now. There are knees and thighs. There is the woman running up the train stairs eight steps in front of you, whose skirt keeps leaping up to her high mid-thigh, you can almost see cheeks but not quite, not now, not ever. You can’t believe how heart shreadingly gorgeous a bare leg is, no tights, no jeans, no mid thigh length puffy coat…

Tomorrow it will be 50 degrees colder. This is a one day only celebration this year. Winter may never end. If you are inside, try to run out for a sandwich or something. This is not Christmas, it isn’t Passover, this is not a celebration made by men. This was a gift from a higher power, so do not take it lightly.


PS. Actually it is passover. But that’s just coincidence.

PPS. I figured the % of gay guys who don’t care about girls was evened out by the % of gay women who do. So I stand by my 49%.