They're Just Boobies

The Babs Butterfield type must always be seen in its totality. It's as if the principle, the total is greater than the sum of its parts, was made just for her, because we really gained the greatest pleasure and appreciation when we looked at this beautiful women in toto, not just by her parts.

In the eyes of anyone at Sugar Loaf, Babs was a super woman. She was well developed spirituality, in character, personality, vitality, health, and outlook. She was naturally innocent. And had an incredible body.

Babs was the third and youngest daughter of Tom and Geraldine Butterfield whom everyone playfully called Tom and Gerry. But the cat and mouse games the two humans played were different from their cartoon namesakes in that their dynamics were aimed at motivating every family member to make a living. Tom, injured by a hunting wound when he was a teenager, couldn't provide everything for the family, so Gerry always worked, sometimes two jobs at once. Frieda, the dutiful eldest, picked up on the financial reality quickly and baby-sat and did odd jobs before she was a teen. Brenda, second-born, was a shadow of her elder sister, so she, too, brought in much-needed cash. It was Babs, the youngest, the extrovert, center-stage Leo, full of vigor and vitality, who did the prancing for the entire Butterfield Clan. Too young to work in their needy times, the little girl preferred to sign up for school plays, athletic events, and social clubs. Thoroughly loved for her vibrancy and happy demeanor, she got away with it while the rest of the family worked

day and night.

But in time, this efferescent bubble of happiness grew up, got married, and because she wanted a wardrobe befitting her champagne personality, went to work like the rest of the family.

While the three girls were in their teens, Gerry had worked for the Sugar Loaf Health Center as a cleaning lady. When Dr. Avery passed, many old Staff resigned, so like a vacuum that's been punctured, there was a great influx of new personnel. And Gerry Butterfield, always on the lookout for ways of bringing in money, used her seniority to enable her three daughters to be hired simultaneously: Frieda as a Med Aide, Brenda and Babs in the kitchen. Had everyone known they were related, they might have thought that a dynasty had been created.

While the reader may think that being a cook was an unlikely place for an outgoing bubble like Babs, know that part of the job was to set, serve, and clean up, which meant that she was often in front of the Residents and Staff. This frequent exposure to so many eyes satisfied her on-stage personality. The exposure of such a super female might have caused concern had the majority of the Residents not been mentally and emotionally incapacitated.

But anyone associated with institutions with mixed genders, especially those catering to the mentally diseased, know that not everyone is totally incapacitated, especially the Court Cases and Sex Offenders. These always have their antennae out, searching, wiggling, feeling for nuances their supersensitive and abberated beings can fix onto. And what a better target than this lively, healthy, full-of-life, and lovely lady named Babs?

I introduced Barbara Weatherby Butterfield by saying that the total is greater than the sum of its parts: that it was the girl's wholeness that made her a super woman. And that anyone who fixed on any of her parts,

be it her ebullient personality, her lively outlook, or her physical body, missed the full joy of the woman. But isn't that exactly what the perverted do --- look at parts only? And, in keeping with the males' fixations, isn't it natural that the warped would choose Barbara Weatherby Butterfield's body? The answer to both questions is, of course, yes.

It seems that once the mind has fixed itself on one aspect of a human it's not satisfied until it's gone the next step: to observe each part in detail. So the straining eyes of the Sugar Loaf horny watched Bab's hips swivel, her hair flick, and her cleavage as she bounced from table to table. Trusting that I won't sound like "one of them," the truth is that no one had to look at his Journal notes to remember Babs Butterfield's chest.

Two Residents described it in terms of fruit.

"Not quite watermelons."

"Nor melons, unless you count when they bounce."

"They're certainly not oranges ..."

"And definitely not lemons or limes ..."

"Which leaves only one."

"Yes. They are definitely grapefruits."

I'm sure the boys contemplated cup sizes and other details too, but that's as far as my eavesdropping notes went.

Part of Barbara's charm was her innocence. She was that simple country girl who never looked beneath the surface for ulterior motives or sexual innuendoes. One might even call the girl naive. And why not? To her there was nothing to hide, whether it was her healthy laughter or her bosom. To this lively child of God, everyone did things as naturally.

One day Babs was super-busy because Brenda hadn't been able to get to work. Doing double-duty, Babs raced through the salad, microwaved the French Fries, and splashed out the deserts. In her rush, the beautiful

woman hadn't noticed that the top button of her blouse had popped open. And don't you just know that the likes of Howard and Sam, ever-ready for a free show, stared at her cleavage like it was the first-ever unveiling of Venus de Milo? Usually such glances bounced off the innocent girl, but when she noticed that the two menkeptpushing their napkins onto the floor, she finally followed the direction of their eyes. Totally in keeping with her innocence, Babs Butterfield made one of Sugar Loaf's classic remarks. Casually she remarked, "Why, they're just boobies."

Peeping Toms, whether of the midnight-through-bedroom-windows variety or the bending-over-secretary type, never want to be caught in the act. They are private creatures, wanting to hide in the shadows while the objects of their abberated attention does all the exposing. So when Howard and Sam were called straight-out, they spontaneously schizophrenic in-stroked so they were unable to experience the embarrassing reality of the moment. Had they been "normal," they would probably have laughed, though red-faced, and quipped something like, "Yeah, aren't they, though!" But the men were so utterly taken back by Bob's innocent remark that all they could do was hide psychologically and stare at the floor.

Babs Butterfield was a joy to work with, as are all people who are simple and don't have issues to resolve or dark games to play. Haven't you found that the ego-seekers, the power players, all those small-minded individuals put us on the defensive and make life a grind and a drag? But the innocent ones elevate the workplace so everything is free and full of joy.

I enjoyed Bab's innocence, her wholeness, her healthiness, her vitality, all of her. For while she was a woman whose totality was definitely greater than the sum of her parts, it is also true that her individual parts

were equally beautiful in their own right.