There is a device out there that by the looks of it would make water boarding sound like a fun event on a family vacation with the in-laws, if in fact your in-laws were the former Commie leader Kim Jung Ill.
This contraption is called a breast pump. No that isn't some new thing that they do on the Jersey Shore for foreplay, it is a device designed to drain the ducts and glands of Das Boobies. As a guy who grimaced at the pump action penial extender return scene in Austin Powers, I saw this torture machine sitting silently next to our bed. It's quiet reciprocating arm and humming electrical motor belay it's ability to suck the soul of a woman out through her teat.
But women find the need to congregate in places, which I loving call "Pumping Stations", to drain the breasts of their nurturing golden dew when the child is not around to do so for them. That is understandable, but what bemuses me is they must perform the act at (what seems like) all times possible. The idea is to increase their supply, freeze some for later, and relieve the pressure or any clogs.
The wild thing is women have been doing this for a LOOONNGGG time. I stumbled upon this thing on a Google serach:
|Dude, grandma's bong gets you legit high!|
Ummmm, that's not a bong brah.
You can put that thing next to dentist cleaning tools as pieces of weaponry meant to be disguised as "safe" when in reality is they will bring a Navy SEAL to his knees in agony and have him admitting to every secret they know in minutes.
The crazier part is my wife will talk to herself about Jojo, watch our son on the baby monitor, or look at pictures of him to assist in getting the milk to drop. I never realized my wife's breasts and Dubstep had so much in common. Bass drops and milk drops create a fun, glow-stick twirling environment for everyone (under the age of 1).
As a man I don't entirely understand why they need to be hooked up to these things but I can tell you my son has no qualms about it since it just goes to ensure the juice is there when itch comes around.
I have a feeling the Paternal POV might be a regular occurrence since there is so much out there we were never, as men, meant to understand.