In case anyone was worrying about me, you’ll be relieved to know that I have “benign breasts.” Officially.

I know this is a good thing. I am grateful that the money I raised last year for the Avon Marathon Walk for Breast Cancer (“save the boobies!”) was not needed for my immediate use. I’m glad I don’t have to endure the anxieties and agonies that some of my friends have endured and mercifully survived.

But “benign” just sounds boring. I don’t really want to invest in the surgery for killer breasts. There are much worse things to be than benign. I have used the word “benign” to describe dates or acquaintances that were non-offensive, but not interesting – harmless. Someone I could manage never to go out with again. (Don’t worry. I’m sure I don’t mean you.)

I keep a dictionary beside my keyboard here that is woefully out of date, but often used. It defines benign as, among other things, “manifesting gentleness and mildness.” I suppose that’s OK. Definition #3 says “tending to promote well-being, beneficial.” Well that certainly was true when I had babies. Maybe it these guys are so beneficial I should let them out more often. But then they might not be “gentle and mild.”

I wonder if I should get a second opinion?