Gravity

When she abandoned her bra he inquired, discretely. She turned the question back on him. “Would you still love me if my breasts sagged?”
      “Of course,” he replied, not born yesterday. But for a horrific moment, he imagined her in the shower, twenty years on, the distended nipples of her drooping jugs tickling his lower abdomen and pointing accusingly at his own gravity-ravaged bits. Little did he know then that old people, people in their forties, did not lather up every few hours with their lovers. Who knew? Gravity and life settle on everyone. You get busy. Responsibilities, and all.