Let me preface this article by saying, the picture above is not of myself. Also, in general, I feel that boobs are great things. They give nourishment to tiny humans, they make shirts that are too long a little shorter, and they can make a body with a little extra in the mid section seem more proportional. Universally, we all, men and women alike, admire the look of a good set. My issue arises when (and this happens FAR too frequently) people feel the need to comment on the fact that I have a couple of them myself. Now I am not an idiot… I am one of those “lucky ladies” that has to spend the extra money at Victoria’s Secret to buy the bigger cargo holders, but where my confusion lies is, where do people get the idea that it is EVER OKAY to state their opinion about a stranger’s body parts to said stranger.
I will give you a recent example. I was working at the bar one evening, not wearing anything particularly low cut. Just a good ole V-neck t-shirt. V-necks are the enemy for many large chested ladies, as you can never pull it up far enough to cover the goods, unless your going for the crop top/bare mid drift look, which I assure you I was not. We have a sink system where you have to lean down just a bit to wash the glasses appropriately, AND as luck would have it 3 gentlemen just HAPPENED to be seated directly in front of said dish sink. At this point I do NOT make eye contact because let’s be honest, if they are there and in your face, you are going to look. I speak for ALL men and women here. I continue with my dishes and my obvious eye contact avoidance. When i finish the job I stand up and move to make someone a cocktail. I was safe! I made it through another awkward boob-in-face scenario. Or so I thought… At this point, I make my way back to the three “gentlemen” sitting in front of the sink and ask if they would like a refill. Two of them politely said no thank you, and the other snickered and paused… Oh boy, here it comes… Exact words out of his mouth, “I might get a few more so I can watch you do some more dishes.” Yup, there it is! Now, one could react a number of ways, giggle and move on, get pissed and back hand him with my ring paw, tell the boss, or tell them to get the hell out. I of course chose option E. I thought a nice verbal berating would be more appropriate. As I ask this guy why he would EVER think making a comment like that was ok, he defensively says, “Well you are the one who wore that shirt, you were kind of asking for it.” OOOOOOOO forgive ME sir for wearing clothes… Next June evening I am working in a sweltering bar I will be sure to wear 3 sport bras and a turtle neck because I would hate to be “asking for it.”
A side note, I know there are a lot of women out there that are saying “aww poor her, she actually has boobs.” I get it, the grass is always greener. I also have a handful of friends who have decided to purchase their own upgraded tatas. I hear a lot of stories about how they make them feel more confident, feminine, their clothes fit better, etc. I say go get it ladies! No hate from me, but I have to guarantee some where in the contract from your plastic surgeon there is a clause that states something like. “by signing this document I hereby allow every human being in the free world to stare at my chest and comment until they are blue in the face.” Most would agree to this because the results are worth the extra oogles. But for ladies like me, the all naturals, we didn’t get a heads up. We didn’t get to debate whether or not we wanted to be so well-endowed, we were genetically enslaved into this world of idiots who can’t keep their comments to themselves.
So I close my eyes and shake my head. I can’t stop what’s going to happen, like watching a train wreck seconds before it flies off the track, I just can’t stop it. But you better believe I will make every last one of you opinionated people feel pretty freaking stupid for saying anything at all about the subject. And I encourage all of you other “lucky ladies” to do the same, maybe if we make them feel dumb enough it will eventually shut em’ up. Maybe…