Trixieland

words about words

The Trouble with Boobies


This is not a post about Boob Month and pink ribbons.

This is a post about boobs in general and my boobs in particular. First off let’s all agree that breasts are wonderous things. They feed the hungry, heal the sick, provide entertainment, and drive the economy. Most people would say “hooray for boobies!”  But there is a dark side to the wonders. I am here to fill you in on the trouble with boobies.

If you are the sort of person that hates boobs, dislikes women, or are prone to “TMI” type commentary, you can stop reading now.

Boobs are great, I’d probably be sad if I didn’t have any and would employ trickery from the Victoria’s Secret catalog. But really, I’ve got more than my share.  Our story begins when I was in fourth grade. Suddenly, I had little proto-boobs pushing out from beneath my Raggedy Ann t-shirt. I was not pleased. I did not want them. I stopped wearing shirts which encouraged the proto-boobs, and wore tops that concealed them.  Then I was in sixth grade. Oh sixth grade, you miasma of girly drama. The gossip was all about who skated with whom at the roller rink, who loved Shaun Cassidy the most, and who had begun wearing –gasp!– a bra. I can tell you who was first. It was Lisa Fitzgerald. She was new to the school, wore a bra, and inspired the classic jingle “Lisa Fitz has Jell-O tits”  No one wanted a bra after that.

I eventually got a bra in seventh grade but only because by then it was expected. By 10th grade I had a perky rack that any one would be satisfied with. But the hits just kept on coming. Over the summer my boobs, well, they ‘sploded. They grew so fast and furious that I got stretch marks on them. Oh the horrors. My dad made some comment that the buttons on my sweater were about to fly off under pressure and that maybe I should invest in a cast-iron bra. Due to 10 years of ballet classes I had very good posture…until one of my friends informed me that I looked like I was sticking my boobs out. Commence slumping.

Oh noez! Attack of the bewbs!

Here’s the deal with boobs: Advertising tells you that bigger is better. But clothes don’t fit, or they look ridiculous. Other girls hate you. They get in the way. The last day of school my junior year a bunch of us went to the beach and then the drive-in. I had a wicked sunburn and was wearing a white tank top over a bikini top. My friends wouldn’t let me go to the snack bar because they said I looked “obscene”.  Thanks, bitches. My boss once cropped my cleavage out of a photo because “I can’t put that on Xbox.com” In my defense, I was not scheduled to be filming that day.

People see big boobs and they think you’re dumb and/or a slut. It is really really hard to contain them within clothes and still look cute. Sundresses and spaghetti straps are just a no-go. You have to double up on sports bras if you want to work out. Having girls give you stinkeye and dudes talk to your chest is freakin annoying. Most guys like boobs, I get it. But some dudes have a serious boob fetish and that is just creepy. Sort of like “okay, here are my boobs, do with them what you will. I’m just gonna go sit in the corner and read a comic book.”

What’s my point? Well, uh, I guess it’s don’t judge a girl by her bra size, and don’t be envious of the booblicious.

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12 thoughts on “The Trouble with Boobies

  1. Gronar on said:

    All I can think of is the Red Stripe beer commercial. “Hooray, boobs”!

  2. Totally empathize. I woke up one day in sixth grade and was a 36D–now many years later, I’m a DDD. The teasing in grade school and high school and the lack of being able to find cute and sensible things can be overwhelming. The fact that people make assumptions based on something you have no control over–also annoying. Having said that, I wouldn’t change me at all 🙂

  3. MaddenWidow on said:

    I concur! I wanted boobs so badly but all I was gifted was a measly A cup that barely required a training bra. I become pregnant and my boobs go from an A to a D. Now I’m back to a acceptable C cup but they’re a pain in the ass. I have to wear a bra. I have to think about how much cleavage I’m showing. I also get to watch them just keep looking more and more pathetic after each baby. Screw boobs!

  4. I’m tiny, but a 32 D bra size. I took a lot of ballet too, and there was a time when I was all worried that my silhouette made me look like a dirty comic, but I don’t care anymore. And? There was a time when I was all “what are firm boobs?” and now at age 38 I totally know I had some. I’m a bit nostalgic for my boobies of old, but they’re still good now, and my husband still digs ’em. Plus, a good bra is a girl’s best friend forever. Buy a $100 bra – buy a $10 t-shirt. Yes.

  5. I was NOT terrified of them! But the Marines taught me that when you are out numbered, call in for back up. I couldn’t figure out who to call or what to say to get some back up. 🙂 Seriously, I love you sweetie, with or without the boobs. You are my one, and I love you so much that if Bill Gates gave me a dollar for every bit of love I have for you, it still wouldn’t be enough to buy it. Maybe rent it though. 🙂

  6. Ewong247 on said:

    Ladies, if you have trouble figuring out how much cleavage you want to show, you at least have an option now. Say hello to the Cami Secret (non-paid plug)

    I would also like to mention that as one of the few men who has commented, I don’t subscribe to the “Bigger is Better” mentality. I figure that a “B” or “C” cup is big enough, so if they are so big that they give you trouble, I’d be happy to pay for a breast reduction.
    And yes, very large boobs can be a little scary. <<<is that a pun? if it is, it wasn't intended

    And about hitting puberty early/late: insecurities suck when you're that age. But you'd think that once people become adults that they would be beyond the jealousy and hatred towards a person with a "desirable" body shape. People are weird that way.

  7. Oh! I so needed to stumble on this. I could have written it myself … I mean not as cleverly of course. my boobs dominated my teen years … I had two breast reductions (after which the wives of my male colleagues were immediately nicer — no thanks, bitches.) … and they grew back. now I am at peace. maybe I am too old now for people to think I’m a slut? hadn’t considered that. Anyway, if you can’t beat em, bounce em… here’s to the boobilicious by birth.

  8. I’m a guy and I every word you typed I have heard before. From my wife. Don’t get me wrong! I am 100% a “breast man,” but I can empathize. Her story is the same. Childhood. Summer. BOOM! Freak at school. Fast forward to the clothing issues and now the back pain (you’re prolly 2 young for that; hopefully, but read on) She’s been objectified and censored and sexually harassed at work over the years. She has this great shirt that says “they dont speak.” But the jokes don’t help with the real issue in our society. I’ve been walking with her at the mall and seen guys walk into columns before. My guess is that you’ve also donated more bras than you’ve worn. I can’t remember if you mentioned this, but try and find a real custom lingerie shop that can fit you. Fir the past 2 decades she’s never been happy with a store bra except some fortunate accidents where the thing was technically made wrong but worked. Great post. Just wanted to chime in with support. Wait that sounds bad. To give you a lift. Um… No. Uh…OK… 🙂 In all seriousness you’re a super cool gal and wanted to let you know it’s not just you. Cheers!

  9. prence on said:

    See, here is the problem.. you say all this but then you post a huge picture of cleavage. You know full well that 90% of the people that visited this page just clicked on the tits and went on their merry way.

    You can complain about your boobs all you want but the truth is that it means slightly less to the regular Joe when you accompany a post about it with a picture of them.

  10. I am a guy and when I see much cleavage, I look. But when a extremely big busted girl in sweater and more goes in public, I don’t stare because I know the girl don’t like it. When a girl hiding her breasts, I care about her.

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