If boobs could talk they’d demand you to stop being so darn silly. They’d ask you why it is you squeeze them into bras that are quite obviously the wrong size for you and make them feel like they are about to spill over the top and into oblivion. I’m pretty sure they’d also wonder why you or your partner don’t give them more attention either; and when they say attention, they mean checking for the signs and symptoms of breast cancer on a regular basis so that you could catch the disease nice and early. They’d tell you to stop being such a ninny because nine out of ten lumps are in fact nothing sinister, but knowing what it is for sure, NOW, is the best defence against the disease that kills so many of your boobs mates every year. Your boobs need you, and until they have a voice (which, quite frankly would be a bit weird, wouldn’t it?) I will be telling you and the rest of Britain to check them and give them the love they deserve. Something I stupidly didn’t do and now live with breast cancer at twenty-seven because it was detected very late. So, love thy boobies, people!