My wife had a baby ten weeks ago and as a consequence we both learned some important lessons about tits. Earlier in the relationship, as in all the years before we decided to have children. Her breasts, like all milkless breasts, were a fetishistic commodity that we both enjoyed. They served no purpose; they had sufficient exchange value but virtually no use value. We owned them; we took pride in them, and men and children without a pair would have liked to have them. We are not wealthy of course; so we had to labor on with the raw materials nature gave us, and we were both pleased enough, though she frequently found herself fascinated by more marketable models — such as those advertised on â€śAmericaâ€™s Next Top Modelâ€ť or â€śThe Girls Next Door.â€ť
We had a Neon, and she silently fancied a Rolls. Most Americans do. Audi makes the â€śTTâ€ť complete with auto bra for MBA couples, not quite wealthy enough for a luxury Jaguar but who might want, perhaps, a pair of Audi TTâ€™s instead. Myself, sure I like the look of the sleeker faster models, but parking would be a constant worry about that first heart-breaking scratch. And God forbid, the ceaseless terror over vandalism and theft would be paralyzing! So I liked the Neon just fine. Of course I didnâ€™t impress the other guys who had racier models. And my dad and my brothers, well they were polite, but I really wanted them to envy me just slightly.
All forthright men know the greatest commodity value, or what Marx called Exchange Value, of a pair of TTâ€™s or titties is the admiration from other Men we receive when we drive around with them. In fact, the usefulness of the breasts or cars with the greatest exchange value has very little to do with anything. After all, we could squeeze a hot water bottle or leave the car and walk when it comes right down to it. Sure the love of a woman and the feel of her body are both wonderful, but the envy of other men, DAD especially, is, well, sublime.