Recently I learned that, thanks to genetics, I have a physical deformity shared by some sisters and nieces alike.
Apparently, through no fault of our own, we were born with one breast larger than the other. Now, because I’ve already posted a piece about the merits of breast massage, I know what you are thinking.
This woman is “breast obsessed.” That would be wrong.
But I do have a fond attachment, even a newfound respect for “my girls.” It’s amazing how much we can so dislike something in high school as I did my generous chest and naturally curly hair, only to find ourselves appreciating those very features later in life.
Today while shopping for another bra in the midst of fifty percent off sales (yes, 50% which is a lot in the land of quality bras), I had a lovely woman assisting me and we wound up in a conversation about how one side of the body tends is a bit larger than the other. Usually the right or left hand or foot or both are slightly larger than the other. However, her chest lopsidedness was not at all noticeable.
On a recent shopping trip with a niece to spend some quality time together celebrating her birthday, she bemoaned her uneven chest through the walls of the change room. I’ve never noticed, I said, you look great to me.
Seconds later, she said, unlock your door. She stepped inside, shut the change room door, lifted her top and said, “Look, I wasn’t kidding!” We laughed together but she looked so stunning in the aqua halter-top she was trying on, I assured her no one would notice. I know this because they don’t seem to notice it with me either. But I do.
When I was in my twenties, I used to suffer upper back pain and several times, my doctor suggested reduction surgery. Instead, I worked out harder to strengthen my upper body. It worked. I no longer have the shoulder pain and upper back pain I used to suffer. And I am so grateful I didn’t have surgery.
Jacket and dress shopping are challenging because the waist is often a 6 or 8 but the 38 DD top just won’t stuff in no matter how I rearrange my flesh. I do not share to brag but to illustrate the shape that has often mistakenly resulted in the assumption by others that my sexuality is always “on roar” or more readily available just because of my physical shape. It really is quite insulting to your intelligence.
“The girls” have often garnered far more attention over the years than I was comfortable with. Dark tops in brown, black and navy are helpful and I seldom wear anything showing any cleavage at all, just to downplay that element because everyone except little children seem to notice “the girls” first, then look into my eyes.
Sometimes they don’t even look at my face at all. Especially some men. They “talk” to my chest. I hate that. But then, people do tell us who they are, don’t they? These are some of the things that have caused me to envy my less endowed sisters.
Once while trying on a dress in a local boutique, Lotus, I think it’s called, the owner was helping me but I lamented that the dress wouldn’t fit my boobs at all. “They are beautiful,” she said, “did you buy them?”
I burst out laughing and said no, I was born with them. You are so lucky, she said. I consider that a compliment on high because, I suspect, in all her years of fitting women, she’s seen enough boobs to know. Men often say anything just to try to have their way with you but I figure she’s a “sister woman” without ulterior motives so she, as Alanis Morissette sings, “oughta’ know.”
Lopsided or not, they are mine, they are attached to me and the only thing I detest anymore is when people use the word boob to describe someone foolish. That’s because I find it an insult to breasts but other than that, I’m good with my “girl boobs.” At long last.