Posts Tagged ‘breast milk’

Say you’re like me. Say you love ice cream. And say by chance you also love breasts. Well, then, dummy head, why hadn’t you already thought of this?

London shop to make breast milk ice cream

A specialist ice cream parlour plans to serve up breast milk ice cream and says people should think of it as an organic, free-range treat.

The breast milk concoction, called the “Baby Gaga”, will be available from Friday at the Icecreamists restaurant in London’s Covent Garden.

Icecreamists founder Matt O’Connor was confident his take on the “miracle of motherhood” and priced at a hefty 14 pounds ($23) a serving will go down a treat with the paying public.

Truth be told, this story kind of gives me the jeebs. It’s not the part about “drinking breast milk” that bothers me. It’s the part about “drinking breast milk from some random lady.” In the interest of full disclosure, I’ve tasted Leigh Ann’s breast milk before and it’s actually quite sweet. But that’s what marriage is, right? Two people in love, willing to give each other’s bodily fluids the benefit of the doubt. Outside of that, I’ll stick with vanilla.

UPDATE: Party’s over, people. As I write this, the U.K. is shutting Icecreamists down. Something about a public health hazard. Yawn.


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I used to think Freud was full of shizzat. Oedipal fantasies? Hysteria? Penis envy? Hogwash.

But I confess I’m getting a little jealous of Leigh Ann’s breasts. Call it boob envy. Those two mounds of mammary glory may be the greatest childcare tools in the history of mankind. Nate wakes up screaming? Put him on the boob. Nate won’t go down? Put him on the boob. Nate gets restless at his Mommy & Me class? Put him on the boob.

But what happens when Mommy’s not around? Well, what happens is poor boobless Daddy has to fumble with re-heating refrigerated breast milk and, by the time he’s done, Nate is usually teetering on bat shit crazy. I feel like an Amish guy trying to raise a barn without a hammer. I mean well. But, really, I’m just in the way.

Long story short, let us not forget that nature has her own ground rules – some several million years in the making – and we break them at our peril.

Or, as some old fart once said, “Anatomy is destiny.”

"Tell me about your mother, Scott."

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