Desired, despised, too small, too big, envied, painful, sexual, natural, fake, amazing, disrespected, revered, glorified and mourned….
What the fuck is up with these yellow, fatty piles of flesh on our chest?
If men knew what was really goin’ on in there would they be as appealing??
Like snowflakes, farts, and fingerprints, each set are unique, and within each set, they are unique to each other.
Sometimes wrapped in a silky skin facade with a cherry on top….and at other times, a
not so silky facade, with a cherry… well, let’s say……
on the bottom-ish? For many of us, in the span of our lifetime, both.
I remember when my flat nipples suddenly popped out like a couple of goddamn turkey timers.
I was 10? 11? No idea.
What I DO remember is that not only was it a really weird occurrence, but an extremely painful one!
Somehow, creepily enough..the boys in my grade knew this fact. I realize now, this wasn’t just MY first fascination with mammaries. It seemed the boys wanted to know what all the hubbub was about too.
After many a training-bra-strap-*SNAP*, I learned to shield my tender buds with a fierce veracity… It fucked me up a little.
“I didn’t ask for this. “
I was happy as a scrappy little tomboy. My hair was short and my legs were long… knobby too. I played
“Boys Catch Girls” and always won.
(Don’t even ask what constituted as winning.)
I wasn’t about to accept this psychical disadvantage…
I wasn’t ready.
Turkey timers don’t really give a shit whether or not YOU’RE ready.
I would NOT let these inferior boy bastards know that I gave a shit about all the attention I got from such a shitty disfigurement. That’s exactly how I saw them then. One big fucking hindrance…..Well more like two tiny ones…
“Hello.. confused here!”
What was going on????
I wasn’t ashamed of my mother’s boobies!
In fact, they felt quite comforting to me.
Somehow though, I was being made to feel ashamed of MINE….?
Fuck YOU fuckers.
It took some very rough years of puberty for me to start realizing just what the hell I had here… The more I grew to understand that there was not much about men to understand, the more I became aware of the power that lie beneath thine shirt.
What started out as annoying bug bites blossomed in to some Princess of Power type shit.
Except I didn’t need a sword or a fucking steed.
“By The Power Of This Tight Grey Sweater!!!”
The funny thing is, is that there’s almost a hypnotic appeal to boobs. Perhaps it’s the pendulous quality, the sway back and forth like a magician’s stopwatch…
“You are getting sleeepy…. very sleeeeeepyyyy….”
I’m almost certain I’ve had men act like chickens without them remembering it…
Maybe it’s an oedipal thing. It brings men back unconsciously to their babydom, of being nestled in their mother’s bosom…
EW.. great, now I’m thinking of my husband as a baby with my Mother-In-Law all fucking exposed like twisted Rococo painting…*GAK*!!
Even the swan is all “Da Fuuuuuq???”
Well whatever it is about titties, I’m rollin’ with it. Hey, if a dude wants to give me a free Starbucks because he’s entranced by some cleavage, fuck it!
“Thank boob very much.”
If the suave Manager Dickhead at the restaurant can be reduced to a bumbling butthead because of some breastesessss cutting my wait time for a table in half…… BOOYA for me!
Listen, I’m aware that this world is a sexist, whirling ball of shit that clings like a dingleberry stiffly to it’s misogynistic idealologies (PENIS) but I’m also aware that these knockers of mine will one day lose their magical powers…
So I say this, if you got it, flaunt it, use it or lose it, and that it’s okay sometimes, to use what you got to get what you want.
I may not be God, but I’m here for you, and I can tell you that whatever bullshit you’re dealing with as a youngen, in the end, the last laugh will be yours.
Another Bitch Whose Been There.
Don’t sweat it girl, you’re good.