The Girls

The Girls...also known as breasts, tatas, boobs, etc. I was one of those unfortunate girls that developed early. Of course, if you were one of those unfortunate girls that developed late, you probably thought I  was lucky. I assure you, none of us were lucky, it all sucked. So, there I am, embarrassed and unsure what to do after having my chest punched and the painful beginnings of breasts assaulted by a couple of boys in my class. I stopped wearing T-shirts or anything that might cause anyone to notice my development. 

I'd like to say my Mom was supportive and empathetic but she was not. She teased me too but at least there wasn't any physical attention. Remember the Grandma in Sixteen Candles, ugh! Were it not for my older sisters (not that there wasn't a bit of teasing but at least they helped) I might have just crawled under a rock and waited until the world began to mature as quickly as my breasts! Interesting article-Why Are Human Breasts So Big?

I'm curious why your first bra is called a training bra? Exactly what is it training? Don't all bras attempt to resist the pull of gravity? After acquiring my first over the shoulder boulder holder (another fun tease from classmates) I felt a little better with something between me and the world and navigated my physical development by beating the shit out of any boy that touched me. Soon, I had a little space and life was better for a bit.

Fast forward to Junior High. I was in with the in crowd but not part of them. That turned out to be a good thing as most of the Popular Kids spent the rest of their public school experience being interchangeable mates. A romantic version of Garanimals if you will. I had two brief encounters with teenage love. The first was a boy that I thought was cute but didn't think would ever notice me (the second I'll save for another time). I was totally surprised when he asked me to go steady. No one dated back then, you committed up front, then broke up.

So, I went to his house, met one of his parents and knew we were doomed. He lived in the good part of town, in a really nice house, with a seemingly normal Dad and I was the exact opposite. Girl from the wrong side of the tracks, crappy house, embarrassing parent. Still, I hoped and said yes when he wanted to go see a football game. We wandered the campus during half time, and found a quiet place to kiss. Of course, he went right for the boobs! I can't tell you how many times I deflected those hands but I'm pretty sure I acquired ninja status that night. I broke up with him on Monday. Too rich and too handsy, a bad combo for someone like me.

That was ninth grade. My best friend was in 8th grade and her sister in 10th. I spent a lot of time hanging out at their house and pretending to be normal. They had two little brothers, one I loved like he was my own and the other I had to regularly hurt. Richard was breast obsessed. The little asshole was always trying to touch me. I regularly punched him but he was unfazed.  

This kid was maybe nine, I was fifteen. Richard played little league baseball and one day when he found it necessary to take liberties with my person, I held him down, grabbed his cup and put it over his mouth and nose like an oxygen mask until he had to breathe. Remember E.T.? Yep, penis breath! Still he persisted.

I finally broke him on a road trip to Nevada, about a four hour drive. I was in the back seat between Richard and his sister and he just wouldn't stop trying to slyly touch me (seriously, I can feel your hand, idiot). So I took his head and repeatedly smashed it into the window. When he cried and told on me, I made him tell his Mom why I did it. She proceeded to have him sit on her lap in the front seat for the rest of the trip (a good two hours). He never touched me after that.

At a high school party, one of the football players asked me, "how do you scare a bee?" Naive me asked how and he grabbed me and said, "Boo bee!" Hilarious, asshole. Clearly, I find you and your wit irresistible! On it went, annoying, invasive and not even a little amusing. Once free of the confines of high school inanity, life was much better but of course there is maintenance.

Bras have always been an evil necessity. As an active person, I have wrestled myself into more sports bras than I care to remember. The struggle is real and day bras (is that what we call them?) are no better. My daughter is currently a Victoria Secret patron. I am way over VS and Pink. I do not want anything itchy (lace) unsupportive or binding. Based on my history, dressing them up seems unnecessary. 

Demi cup? No, thank you, I'm actually looking for something to corral the girls, not make an offering. Plus, why spend the same amount of money on something that doesn't actually cover the vast majority of your female real estate? My last surprising breast encounter was at a friends 40th birthday party. All of the women were showing their cleavage for a scrapbook full of breast shots as a gift. I declined and was met with surprise and encouragement to do it from female friends. I still declined. 

There are plenty of breasts in the world and I choose to share mine selectively. No amount of cajoling will ever get me to conform. This is my body, and I will choose when, how and with whom I share, if at all! I know people that have had and removed implants, those that have had breast cancer and reconstructive surgery and  those that have chosen to breast feed or not. Here's the deal, they are yours to do with as you please. To feed, to enhance, to dress up, whatever. You do you and I'll do me. 

This is meant to be humorous. I can laugh at all of the silly situations described above. Sometimes it is a far more serious issue. You can read about it here Me Too