A Stolen Waggle

Turns out I am not, or at least I wasn't the only one, the inventor of the word Waggle. I was walking through the Target the other day, in the dog toy aisle, and this toy was named after the very motion that I had described in my previous posts. And on top of that it was a toy that my dog does indeed play with. So yes, the toy is called the Waggle, but does it Waggle.

That evening when I got home I decided that, unfortunately for my puppy, we would play with the Waggle for purposes of a motion study. He wasn't terribly upset but he did try to introduce a bird into play a few times. But  the study confirmed it, the Waggle is a definitive motion, named by me or not, something that waggles is something that waggles.

And yes, that last sentence is a bit off, actually many things about this situation are. Because dog toy makers have invented a toy that moves much like the bust of a human my poor dog things anything that waggles is fair game. I'm fighting for the right to waggle here folks and I'm going to be defeated by a puppy with a strange notion of motion.

The Artful Waggle: Updated

I was in the town that I went to college in last night. That's a horrible sentence but bear with me here.


So I was back at school and my friend and I went to my favorite restaurant, the famous Earth and Tea Cafe, for tea and Princess Cake (you have no idea what you're missing). On our way to the car after tea and shopping I spotted a glorious waggle. It was yet another man waggle, I tend to notice them more because, well, lady boobs aren't really my thing. This man had a front and back waggle, hips and buns swinging in his swishy pants on his way to the only athletic establishment in the tiny downtown area, the stripercize studio.

Good for him, you know, if your best assets look best bouncing why not bounce them in style while toning and strengthening your body, mind and spirit? Oh, so stripping isn't the same as yoga or meditation or long distance running?

My statement stands: If you bounce best, bounce well.

But I should also clarify that I don't want this to be something I an forced to observe while trying to diminish my midsection bounce while bounding doing a stationary machine that somehow forces me to look at myself run even if the TV is turned on to such exercise shows as Top Chef: Just Desserts. I don't want to see boobs, I don't want to see bums and I sure as hell don't want to see them in all of the splendor while I'm attempting to be discrete.

The waggle has a scary side and it is apparent in the locker room. While I'm not privy to what goes on in a men's locker room (and am eternally grateful because if it's half as bad as what goes on in the ladies' locker room I'd die) the women's locker room is where the waggle rears its ugly head and causes nightmares. I will never judge a fatty at the gym, I am not so stealth myself, and it can only be an improvement for their health, what I will judge is the lack of shame some people feel in a locker room. I have had a few encounters with men in the locker room, more than enough to keep any need to uncover  covered, but I hide when it's just the ladies too.

Some people not so much. My favorites are the towel on the head ladies, they like to put lotion on their legs while using the counter to prop up said legs while only wearing the aforementioned towel. I also like the large lady whose aquatic class has tuckered her out so thoroughly that she has to sit her naked bottom on the bench to get dressed, this lady is always social. All of these ladies are wiggling and jiggling into their clothes and entire bodies waggle. Entire bodies!

Please, if you dare, share your waggles with me, sexy and un. But be kind, use words not visuals.

The Artful Waggle

I understand now. At least I think I do. No, this isn't a meaning of life type thing, though maybe it is. It's more a breast thing, not just breasts but chiefly breasts, and breasts are sort of meaning of life for babies and some of the male of my species. And while I've got a set I've never really understood the fascination, that is, as I stated earlier, until now.

This afternoon I was driving and as I sat at a stop light waiting for my green, a pedestrian crossed the opposite crosswalk, halfway across a car forced the walker into a job and there it was, the ever so elusive, meaning of life, life changing, life affirming, breast waggle.

And now you're shaking your head. First of all I should try to explain what a waggle is, I do indeed use the word a lot in real life, if perhaps not here.

Waggle verb : a motion that resides somewhere between swaying or waving to and fro and jiggling or vibrating.

Unbound breasts do waggle, I have a hand motion that is a waggle (Jamie Lose and Christine Bowden witnessed it once and each has a wonderful impression). Waggles happen often enough that Merriam-Webster will eventually pick it up, but not until Oxford English does (I just talking about dictionaries like they're not dictionaries, what now?).

This waggling episode of this afternoon wasn't as beautiful as you XYs are thinking because this waggle was the waggle of male mammaries (Google is telling me this is spelled incorrectly, forgive me but mammary just doesn't work, it was a plural waggle.)

Yes, a man jogged across the street and his breasts bounced and shook like a slo-mo Baywatch shot, only much less appealing. I was repulsed. And I'm not being sizest here, I should clarify that this was not a fat man but a fit man, at least his legs were fit, he could have used a few reps in the chestical region, light weights just to firm those puppies up.

It was this repulsion that made me understand though. I understand a bit more of the mystery of the love of boob. Breasts have they're own magical motion, and as the tele-tube has led me to believe in a fuller form the waggle is wonderfully hypnotizing. So I hear. I'm still pulling two sports bras at the gym to keep the waggle to a minimum because the TV doesn't understand how uncomfortable treadmill waggle is.

I am feeling more enlightened today. I hope you are too.