“They are warm hearted mammary glands who I’ll love ‘til the end. People let me tell about my breasts friends, there a pair of cuddly toys, they go up, down, and all around, they are my pride and joy.”
Lately, I have really been into them. They sometimes come in handy when my raw nerd prowess fails me. They are also great table rests for when I read a book in bed. But the girls and I haven’t always been besties. Like all females blessed (or cursed it may feel like) with curves, I questioned the status of our friendship innumerable times.
I developed early. Like third grade, I-don’t-even-know-what-the-heck-these-things-are, I’m-still watching-Pokémon, sit-any ‘ole-kind-of-way-with-my-legs-open-in-church, early. And back then I was an enthusiast tomboy. I played soccer, kickball, and could definitely out run any fellow third grader, male or female. Well could is the operative word there because once I (and everyone else) realized that boobs bounce quite a bit when you’re trying to play offense in sports, I ceased any physical activity in front of my peers.
I hated my boobs back then. They were clumsy, sweat-prone, and back then, did nothing for my figure. I was insanely small and even awkward in every other aspect of my body. Past yearbook pictures show me as a buck tooth, bespectacled, twigged arm sprout. Sticking a pair of hooters on that picture didn’t help. I was still that weird, nerdy (yet athletic) chick rocking plaid button ups and flood pants. My parents must have had a cruel sense of humor to dress me as a female version of Urkel.
But at least Urkel didn’t have coconuts! And yes, they became coconuts! While it seemed I was doomed to barely break the five foot barrier height wise, my breasts had no qualms about getting bigger and bigger. My shoe size has literally remained unchanged since middle school and even my jean size hasn’t had much variation, yet I need to buy new bras every year it seems.
And for those of you who may have a more petite chest, having big boobs doesn’t automatically make you feel more feminine or pretty or popular. Yeah, I had to come to terms with that too.
Not to mention to the number of times I wish I could detach them in certain situations. What is with this culture that so many people associate a large chest with being a willing receptacle of unwanted advances from everyone who has got a smart mouth? Just because we have big boobs doesn’t mean you can treat us like a rodeo clown! I know everyone reading this probably already knows that, but it bears repeating because I too fall victim of stereotyping some girls by their boobs. That’s my own insecurities.
When I see a girl with a nice rack (yes I do notice other girls because I compare, don’t act like you don’t), rocking it, without a hint of doubt or uncertainty, I feel that familiar twinge of envy. While I love my boobs sometimes, the old insecurities and teasing and looks from not only strangers but from family and friends, doesn’t make the relationship with the girls smooth all the time.
So how do you ladies feel about your breasts friends? Or are they your enemies? Or is it just complicated? While I sometimes want to change my attachment status with them, I really think my boobs and I are headed into a loving, mammary relationship.
