Sunday, February 20, 2011


I could have called this post “breasts” but I like the word “boobs” better. I also like the word “boobies.” It’s cute. I’m kind of a connoisseur of breast slang. That’s largely (no pun intended) due to the fact that I’m very well endowed and was an extremely early bloomer. I can’t really remember a time when I wasn’t nearly defined by, or, at least, synonymous with my boobs. It was early in the 4th grade the first time anyone made a boob remark at my expense. I remember it very clearly. I had gotten up to sharpen my pencil, and as I crossed the classroom to return to my desk, two boys were snickering and when I looked at them, one said to me very matter-of-factly, “Bernard says you’re growing.” Well, I knew that! I don’t remember my exact response – if I even had one. I just remember being horrified that someone would point out something so obvious out loud. I mean, I lived in my body, I was pretty sure I knew what was going on with it, and besides, I had mirrors in my house. After that, commentary about my girls was basically an every day event. For some reason, boys really liked to say to me: “You know you’re going to get breast cancer, right?” I came to the conclusion around 7th grade that it would be silly to get upset about the comments. By 8th grade, I was proud of them and damn happy to have them in my life.

As a young woman, I had the best set of boobs anyone could ever hope for. Really. Again, I know sometimes I sound like a completely conceited jezebel, but we’ve all seen boobs. We all know what makes a pretty set. Mine were lovely. 36C, perky, curvaceously round, and perfectly symmetrical with the exception of the fact that I actually have a small beauty mark on one nipple. Kind of Marilyn Monroe or Cindy Crawford. I loved them. I displayed them with pride in lovely bras, low-cut fuzzy sweaters, and clingy cotton tank tops. They turned heads. They got me discounts in stores. They got me virtually every man I ever set my sights on. What’s not to love?

Meanwhile, the weight of my lovely friends was pulling and tugging on my shoulders and back. It wasn’t so bad when I was very thin, and only a size 36C, but after my mid-twenties I gained a lot of weight. For a long time the girls held their own, despite my refusal to buy a really sturdy bra. Those bras were ugly! They were enormous and forced you into an unnatural shape. They looked like you were old and really fat! Well, I guess I just didn’t want to admit it, but I was really fat. Still, I continued to wear pretty, lacy, useless bras. And I continued to eat. I gained, and gained, and gained… and my boobs got bigger, and bigger, and bigger.

Finally, after many years, well, ok… a decade…I lost weight. The first time that I went down a bra size, I didn’t really see a difference. I just knew that the bras I was wearing were starting to slip down, and the cups were not as full as they had been. So, I went shopping. I found that I’d gone from (brace yourself) a 40DDD to a 38DD. (And no, 7th grade classmates, I didn’t get breast cancer.) When I held my new bra up to my old bra and saw the difference – I was inspired! Now the goal was to get back to a 36C. How wonderful it would be to get that small again! I continued working by butt off, and eventually made it into a 36DD, and that’s where I remain today. I’m still determined to get back to that 36C. Heck, I’d almost be satisfied with a 36D.

Why not get a breast reduction, you ask? Well, because as things stand, I am still a little overweight. I see surgery as an absolute last resort. When I look at the girls now, they’re not as perky as they once were, obviously, but I’m also not 17 anymore. They’re looking pretty good considering all I’ve put them through. They’re still curvaceously round, still perfectly symmetrical, and aren’t nearly as far south as they could be, if I weren’t working out. Besides, they’re a part of my body, and they’re healthy, so why take them under the knife? For vanity? I’d say not. If I couldn’t have managed to lose weight I’d have done it, but as things stand, I don’t see it as medically necessary.

Why am I telling you all this? Well… basically I’m telling you about all this because I’d like you to take care of your boobs. Really. I mean, God only gives you one set of boobs, and regardless of what size you got, or what shape you got, or how you have felt about them, they’re yours. They’re a part of your body, a part of your identity, and you should be proud of them. Wear a good bra. Exercise. Do the self breast exam. Get your mammograms when they’re due.

Wait, you’re a guy? Oh… ok. Then take care of your lady’s boobs. Make sure she does the self breast exam. Make sure she gets her mammograms. Make sure she has good bras. (*Yeah, that’s a hint. Go shopping.) And by the way, did you know that men can get breast cancer? It’s true, look it up. If you love boobies… then do your part for them. And give them lots of love and kisses, too. They like that.


  1. I am a 58 a and I check mine all the time. I have strong Hungarian nipples. Also, I check the fric and fracs below. Guess you got over the writer's block.