I did not realise I had a favourite breast. Quite frankly, it is not the sort of thing I had given a great deal of thought to. If I had contemplated it at all, it was really only in a comic Blackadder Nursie kind of way (‘Right breasty-dumpling or left breasty-dumpling?’). Jokingly I had, of course, blamed the Captain, for the current state of affairs as he has always lavished more attention on my left breast. ‘You’ve broken it,’ I kindly said.
Last night in bed, as we went through our usual settling routine:
- My head on his chest
- Both roll onto left side and spoon
- Both roll onto right side, spoon and hopefully fall asleep
I realised with some shock that I do indeed have a favourite. And of course, that favourite is my left. As we roll onto our left sides, pretty much every night for the twenty seven years of our marriage the Captain has cupped my breast in his hand. My left breast. He did so again last night. I lay there and sobbed.