I have boobs. A number of women do. Some men have boobs. I don’t know how I feel about that, but I am guessing since I am not an owner of the man boobs, perhaps I shouldn’t discuss them.
When I was in high school, I didn’t think much about my boobs. They were just kind of attached to the front of my body, sometimes collecting crumbs from my pizza, sometimes getting in the way of soccer balls, sometimes being grabbed awkwardly by boyfriends. They really weren’t that obvious to me, though. Until senior year. A certain boy passed by me in the hall. I was wearing a dress that I absolutely LOVED. It was perhaps a little low-cut, but nothing too flashy. This boy… eyes ogling, eyebrows wiggling, and probably all sorts of other things happening that I didn’t see… said to me,
“WOW! You have HUGE boobs. I mean not just big, but HUGE!”
I’m not sure what I did at that moment. If the thirty-something woman who I have become could flash back in time, I would’ve commented on a part of his anatomy that appeared to be quite small, but we can’t go back…until next year. High School Reunion time. Oh please be a fat ass, oh please please please.
Anyway, I cried. I felt terrible. I hid my boobies under baggie t-shirts and plaid flannels for years. Teenage girls are sensitive! The worst part? I never wore that awesome dress again.
Some people have big ones, some have small ones, some are fake, some are saggy (that means they’re real) and some are squished uncomfortably into a mono-boob type formation in a sports bra. I still don’t get the whole obsession over them. If I want to wear a tank top to exercise, I will! My bubble is supportive and can double as a sports bra! But, it doesn’t mean I’m trying to show them off. It means I am hot (as in, sweaty).
This brings me to a recurring bubble violation: the infamous BOOB TALKER!!!
This is a person who is unaware that you have a face, a mouth, even eyes… they may not even notice that you are speaking, because they are fully and completely consumed by your boobs. It’s like you are just breasts with feet, walking through the world, waiting to be complimented or squeezed or drooled on. Sure, no problem. It’s not like I was talking about anything important. In fact, I am having trouble speaking because I am just a boob (or two) and I have no mouth!! It’s a good thing I’ve figured out how to type.
Men (and Women): …or rather Men (and Women) who talk to Boobs:
Listen Up! WE CAN SEE YOU! You would know this if you ever looked at our eyes! We immediately think WAY less of you. If you have to look below our chins, because for some strange reason it is required by your genetic makeup, please be a bit less obvious.
In my shiny pink bubble, my boobs are somewhere below my eyes. They are happy there. If I wanted you to talk to my boobs instead of me, I would have put them on my forehead.