Boobs. Breasts. Tits. Jugs. Tatty BoJangles.
Babies need them, men lust after them, women are never happy with them.
I remember being about 11 years old, puberty hadn't come for a visit just yet and I was tall but still had a kid's build. I was sitting with a friend lamenting that the boys (who were all about 13-14) would never notice me because they were always looking at the older girls with boobs. I told my friend that I wished I had big boobs because maybe then I would be liked by the boys.
Holy Christ, be careful what you wish for.
One year later, I wasn't even finished grade 6, 12 years old and sporting C-cup boobs that showed no signs of slowing their growth. I was already starting to get a sore upper back from carrying those things around on a 12 year old frame.
And just like a a pimple on prom night, they kept growing and growing.
By age 14 I was often being mistaken for 19 and 20 years old and it certainly wasn't because of my knowledge of classic literature and my mature demeanor. Men twice my age and many more who were blatantly old enough to be my father would whistle, stare, make cat calls or try a cheesy pick up line. Most of them ran away in horror when I would tell them I wasn't even close to being of legal age to vote let alone for what they had in mind. Being a teenager is awkward enough, let alone suddenly getting attention that you know isn't genuine. I had no idea how to deal with it. Girls would trash me and call me a slut because I had big boobs even though I had barely even kissed a guy at 14. Guys would assume I was easy because I had boobs even though I was actually quite terrified of sex at that age. I had no other identity...I wasn't funny, I wasn't smart, I wasn't nice, I wasn't anything...I was a pair of breasts. So, eventually I tried to 'own it' and took to low-cut shirts, making jokes about it, making (bad) attempts to be flirty....because I had resigned myself to the fact that it seemed they were all I had to offer. Yet, I stayed a virgin and rarely even kissed the guys I flirted with...because as much as I tried to 'own it'...I resented the fact that they just liked me for one reason.
I couldn't wear the cute shirts, dresses, swimsuits that other girls my age were wearing because they either looked ridiculous, didn't come in my size or looked like something out of a bad porn. Forget training bras, by high school I was having to buy bras at special boutiques for $100 a pop. I walked around with hunched shoulders and back pain. I wore a lot of baggy hoodies, hockey jerseys and my brother's old shirts, thinking that maybe I could hide them.
Then a miracle occurred. I was at a muscle rehab session for my bad neck and shoulders from years of bad posture from lugging what were now enormous sacks of flesh around on my frontage for years. The insanely cute doctor had me do a few stretches to see where my bad muscles were and told me that it was the front weight that was hurting me...and he asked me if I'd ever considered a breast reduction. What?? They do that? I called my mother over and she, having been a nurse, asked him the smart questions such as long term effects, scarring, healing, etc. All I asked was..."How soon can it be done??"
And so it came to be. I remember very clearly standing in the little pre-op room while the surgeon asked me to take down my gown so he could make some markings on my breasts for the surgery...I had trouble not being a little offended that he in no way reacted when I got topless. I was 19 years old, I had not shown a lot of men my boobs before, but I was certainly not used to a man being bored and professional about them. He asked me what size I wanted to go down to...I said that I didn't care if they went concave, just get them off of me. He chuckled. They had told me to bring one of my bras without the under-wire so that they would use it to help keep the gauze and bandages in place for a few days after surgery, so when I left the hospital, I didn't feel any smaller or different. My mother was my at-home nurse so when the time to remove the bandages came, she helped me undo the bra, and slowly peel the bandages off me. The doctor had warned me that I would be sore, badly bruised and that I would have lumpy boobs at first...because they would need to re-settle into their new natural shape over time. I looked down and they looked so small...and man were they lumpy...it was like looking at two half eaten bruised potatoes on my chest. I was horrified (and hugely drugged) and thought I'd made a huge mistake...I was so used to being the girl with the big boobs...I felt like I'd lost part of my identity.
I was uneasy for days, wondering if I'd done the right thing. I didn't have my real answer until my mother brought me new bra shopping at La Senza. It was my first time there in ages, I hadn't fit into off-the-rack bras in years. I hadn't gotten to wear the 2 for $20 cute lacy bras that young girls love...I was trying to shove my mountainous burdens into what felt like harnesses discarded from military missions. I walked into the brightly coloured bra boutique and literally skipped around grabbing one of every colour to try on. I put on the first bra and threw my t-shirt over it and looked at myself. All doubt was gone...I felt awesome. I felt normal. I felt like a hunchback who had had the hump removed...just...in the front. The Hunchfront of North Toronto...not quite as catchy.
A weight had been both literally and figuratively lifted from me, I felt like I didn't have to be defined by my shape anymore. It was only at that time that I really started dating at all, I had never previously trusted guys that they didn't just like me for my....plumage. A few guys who had always been so nice suddenly weren't very nice to me anymore. I didn't mourn their loss any more than the loss of the searing shoulder pain I'd gotten rid of.
I did not have small breasts after the surgery, but I had breasts that did not enter the room 2 feet before the rest of me. I was more social and willing to talk to people after that, I felt much less awkward about having any attention drawn to me. I met a surprising number of girls who had had the surgery as well or who were considering it and we all agreed that big boobs were more of a curse than a blessing and that getting them reduced was a saving grace.
I still have a full frontage...they fluctuate with my ever trampolining weight on the scale. I still sometimes have trouble finding a decent fit but I can still walk into stores and find something that will fit. The only things that are still a no-go are button up shirts (any girl with C-Cups or over knows the eternal struggle with the button boob gap) and anything strapless...because I don't need them bouncing of my knees or injuring a small passing child. I am comfortable in my frame, I don't feel the need to hide away as if I'm on day-release from the circus, but I am also comfortable enough with myself to not have to walk around with the girls hanging out for all to see. At this age, I'd rather dazzle you with my wit than show you a tit.
I could say a ton more about the subject of boobs, I fancy myself, not an expert but...experienced. I am not even really trying to make a specific point with this story...other than perhaps showing that everyone is insecure about something and that getting what you wish for isn't always a good thing. I still always wish I was skinnier, but then I wonder what I'd be unhappy about if I were to achieve that. Big boobs, small boobs, women are rarely happy with them..and if they are, they're probably unhappy about some other part of themselves. Just don't make assumptions about someone because of how they look. Deal?
No comments:
Post a Comment