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.
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.