Friday, March 21, 2008
It's a simple word, yet packed with meaning and innuendo. This came to me as I was doing my monthly self-exam. Breasts are a burden and cancer carriers to me. I hate having to corral them into a bra and, being large, they constantly get in my way -- playing the piano or working on something that requires close proximity. And forget about eating out and not coming home with spots on my blouse or dress. It's like trying to eat with the Alps attached to my chest! Over-the-shoulder-boulder-holders are what guys used to -- and maybe still do -- call bras. Sounds about right judging from the pain in my shoulders and back. I haven't always felt this way about brassiers. At the age of perhaps 12 my mother took me to buy my first bra. This was a HUGE DEAL because I'd no longer have to roll-up my t-shirt to hold the rolled-up socks to see how I'd look with boobs. As we walked into our small, local department store and headed toward the lingerie department, I started feeling embarrassed. I wanted a bra, but I didn't want boys to know I was wearing one. No more white blouses from there on in!! If a boy saw a bra, he'd grab the back of it and snap it. It HURT and was humiliating! The lady who worked in the lingerie department was kind, well-endowed and unusually perky. I'd guess she was about 40. She selected several training bras from big, clear, plastic drawers and offered to help me try them on. Yeah, right!! Like I was gonna let some stranger see me half-naked!! Unlike bras today, these had absolutely no shape to them and the color choices were white or white. As the sales lady rang up our purchase, she told me to get plenty of exercise and I'd develop a nice bust line. Sounded good to me, so when I got home, I went straight for the vacuum cleaner and vigorously vacuumed the entire house. I could just see a nice bust line developing -- whatever that was. It wasn't the vacuuming nor the girls' gym class unofficial exercise -- We must, we must, we must increase the bust. The bigger the better the tighter the sweater, we must, we must. . . Genetics stuck me with big mammary glands. Going bra-less in the 70s to protest for equal rights was the reason for their crash. Gravity is a cruel thing and sooner or later all breasts fall prey to it. I'm old enough now that I'm not trying to attract attention -- wanted or unwanted -- as was the case in my youth. The first place males' eyes went to was my chest. I can't count the number of times I was told loudly, by total strangers, often construction workers, that I had a nice rack. I don't think much has changed. Men still love big breasts and always will. It's that evolution thing again. Many men just aren't very evolved! But, then again, they are good for opening the sticky lid on the olive jar.