Disclaimer for Men: Hey dudes. There will be boob talk in this blog. Particularly about mine. If you are one of those guys who I grew up with and I am like a sister to you, you may just want to stop right here. For those of you who are still reading; there will be nothing sexy going on in this blog. It's stone hard truth. The big, the bad, and the DD's.
My friend, Caren, has a fabulous butt! She's got this whole Beyonce thing going on with her booty and thighs. It's absolutely beautiful and I very much envy her. No amount of squats is going to put the junk in my trunk. I know. I gave it 4 good years of trying. I will forever have legs sprouting from my back. I mean, it's as flat as the Texas plains back there, but Caren! Blessed woman! I ain't gonna lie to you either; I spank that thang every chance I get. On Baking Day, if her glorious booty is blocking the cabinet or drawer that I need to rifle through, I give it a pop. It is very satisfying. Very.
Caren, of course, has little to no appreciation for her booty. She will concede that at least it is "trendy" right now but she feels the booty worship will pass. She is a slim woman with get up in her go. Just like I can not work out enough to create a butt, she will never work her butt away. (It's true Caren. Sorry. I only apologize because I know you don't like it but I am happy for it!) I have told Caren that I will make her love her booty.
One day Caren says to me, "I've been thinking about what you said about making me love my booty and I've decided that I will love my booty the day you love your boobies."
I hate 'em. They make me look fatter then I am. I have a size medium body but the boobs make me have to get a size (or two) larger which then can look frumpy. Or the top will then be too long because apparently designers think large also means tall. Idiots. I can wear an 8-10 in pants but a 12 in a dress.
Everyone looks at them. Not just men. Women look at them and usually with disdain on their face. They think I'm out to get their men or something. That's right ladies, I grew these suckers myself to go out and woo your man away. Sometimes they look with admiration and envy. They don't realize that you can't wear shirts that button, that your back hurts, your bra strap cuts into your shoulder which then you can't help but think, damn, I have fat shoulders! I have woken myself up in the middle of the night because I have rolled onto my boob. And it hurts!
Men! They are the worst. Eyes up here fellas. Men seem to agree with their wives and think that I sprout these suckers for their viewing pleasure. Several have the gall to even talk about 'em with me. I recently met a guy who mid sentence said, "I'm sorry but I keep looking at your boobs." At least he apologized... "And I am sure there is more to you then that."
"Nope. Not really." I answered dryly.
This weekend Aaron and I went to a 50th birthday party for a guy he works with. I carefully chose an outfit that would hide my cleavage. It was a form fitting tunic that accentuated my waist. Unfortunately, it also accentuated the Ladies and so I wore a pretty cardigan over it. Paired with skinny jeans, tucked into heeled boots and I found the outfit to be appropriately modest and party friendly. So, here I am meeting lot's of new people. One guy there (who does not work with Aaron directly but is in the industry) tells me and the other gal I am with that he "feels surrounded by boobs tonight!"
"Well, hers are bigger then mine!" quipped the other lady.
Thanks a lot, Sister. And Aaron walks up with my glass of wine....thank you, thank you, thank you!
Some people seem to be under the impression that I purposely display my cleavage. Here's how it works my flat chested friends: if I wear a top that goes all the way to my neck, I then look large because there is this expanse of fabric stretched taught across my chest. It is more slimming (for all people) to wear a v-neck, scoop neck or boat neck. Boat necks are my favorite because they cover things very nicely but still expose the clavicle. That bit of bone actually gives the allusion of being skinny. I have a hard time finding many boat necklines though. So I will wear a v or scoop neckline and sometimes layer it with a lacy cami or something. For some reason though, fabric moves. It shifts and stretches as the day goes on and inevitably some cleavage is going to be out there. (We took some family photos once and I worked hard to put together a breast minimizing outfit but low and behold! It was like the freakin' grand canyon.)
There are bras that claim to minimize the breasts.
A. they are ugly. They are big with wide straps and are in the colors white or flesh and in the same fabric they cover mattresses with. Feeling pretty starts with under garments. Truth.
B. They mash the boob flat but the excess has to go somewhere. Guess where it goes? Your armpit. So then you have the lovely Pitty Titty. Pitty Titties are even less attractive then actual titties. You can try to stuff the excess back in there but the resluts are also unattractive.
There have been some benefits. I was most appreciative of them when I was breast feeding. Well, not with Gabe. Poor thing. I had the wells but they were always dry. He was this half starved little baby... Drew however, reaped much benefit! I swear that boy came out with a bib on. When a baby is newborn they have to work up to how long they breastfeed. For one, because they are so little and two because mom has to work up the supply. So usually, you have a goal to nurse for 5 min. on one side and then 5 min. on the other and then you increase it to 10 and 10 and so on. Drew was nursing a full 15 min. on each side from day one.
I remember one road trip down from Kansas City to Dallas for Thanksgiving. We were just north of Denton, TX and in stand still traffic. Drew was wailing because he was hungry. Aaron said he could pull off the road so I could feed him but I really did not want to get any further back in that line then we were, especially as close to our destination as we were. So I climbed into the back seat, whipped out my breast and nursed the little guy with out having to take him out of his seat. I felt like a female Inspector Gadget! It was the one time I was really happy to have the big boobies. Way to come through for me ladies!
(A girlfriend and I often used to try to figure out a way to feed babies while driving. The idea was to have something like a breast pump attached to our boob that then had a long reaching straw to attach to a pacifier that could get to the baby in the back seat. There are a lot of kinks in the design that, as mothers of young children, we were too tired to figure out but we loved to dream about it....)
So I consider a breast reduction all of the time. My husband says no. Of course. He's a man. I am certain Aaron and I were made for each other. We are yin and yang. He is quiet, private, and subdued. I am a loud, open book, when's the next party? I think physically we were made for each other too. He has it going on (booty) and I have his beloved boobs. As my friend Lauren once said of me, I put the "fun" in "fun bags." But I often wonder...which came first? Did God make him a boob man because I would have giant boobs or do I have giant boobs because he is a boob man? And why did God not make me taller? These DD's would look much more proportionate on a gal who is 5'5 or taller then on this 5 foot nothing frame. And then God talks to me through produce.
The other day at Whole Foods I saw this crazy fruit:
It's called Buddha's Hand. I thought it was just beautiful! It looks like a star burst! This fruit that grows in Japan is related to the lemon. The skins color and texture are the same. If you gently twist one of the "fingers" a mist of juice comes out in a light spray and it smells just like lemon! It's used for it's zest. When cooking you can thinly slice a "finger" and add it to your dishes. I did not care for it's culinary use. I could not get over God's hand in this Buddha's Hand. The masterful artistry...again! How beautifully designed. There were other Buddha's Hands that were more closed. That is really where the name came from because the closed ones look like praying hands. I did not find those ones as attractive. I loved this one and I had to have it.
As I carried it through the store there were lot's of questions. Mainly: what is that and what will you do with it? I just wanted to display it. It's a lovely centerpiece. A work of art on it's own accord. I think it would be really cool if I could make a Christmas tree out of fruit and set this on top! Any how, I loved the Hand and had to give God a hand once again for his creativity.
And God said "Yes, I make beautiful things. Like you."
My eyes got teary and my nose tingled because I was about to cry and then I said to my Lord, "Shut up."
"Do you think I did it wrong?"
"I don't make mistakes. My designs are perfect and you were fearfully and WONDERFULLY made."
"I am stacked. Like a snowman."
"How can you hate what I love?"
And so I have to concede in this argument because I know He is right. As usual. This is the body the Lord has made. I will rejoice and be glad in it. (I'll try to anyway.)