Boobs Man! What’s the Big Deal?

Ok Cupid sent me an email a couple times asking me what my secret was. They said I had one of the highest hit ratios on the site. (For all the good that’s done me..) In case you’re wondering, No. My pictures are not lewd or untoward in ANY way. The pic below has never been on a site.

On the contrary, I’m often told I  look girlish or like the “cat that ate the canary”. However, I have noticed that my count goes up significantly when my upper torso appears in my picture, as opposed to just my face. My face isn’t hard to look at.  At least, I don’t think it’s stopped any clocks yet… that I’m aware of.

I suspect it has something to do with the fact that I have (what my mother used to embarrassingly refer to as) a rather “ample bosom”. I’m not sure I understand our culture’s obsession with breasts.

Until I was 13, all my chums were wearing training bras, while I was busy pinning up my undershirts in an effort to make it look like my little buds were in training too.I always wondered why they were called training bras. What were my breasts in training for? A night of hot sex? Perkiness? Or were they considered unruly and needed the discipline that could only be afforded by a training bra?

When my mother took me shopping she used to tell the saleswoman, with varying degrees of expression, “She has no bosom!”

Sometimes it was under her breath. Sometimes she just blurted it out. And sometimes it was as though she was enlisting the help of the saleswoman to try and solve this perplexing problem. I likened it to Sherlock deferring to Watson for his perspective, knowing that together they can solve the mystery.

The first time it came up I had no idea what they were talking about. I’d never heard the word bosom before.

I thought perhaps I could do something to solve the problem as well. I’m a great problem solver! I often found mom’s “flats” or car keys for her when frantically trying to get out the door. But clearly this one was beyond me.

I was something of a tomboy. There were six kids in my family. Managing a family of six kids, I can’t say I blame mom for wanting me to keep my hair short.  I have four brothers and I was often mistaken for being one of them.

When I discovered that bosoms were the same as breasts, I thought, ‘Who cares?” But the more it came up, the more I began to feel like I was unable to grasp what evidently was a serious problem.

I dreaded shopping for clothes with mom until  I had the great joy of seeing the movie “Sound Of Music”!  That was a life changer. Julie Andrews was not only something of a tomboy, and sported a boyish haircut, but the nuns frequently sang “How do you solve a problem like Maria?”. Albeit, Julie’s problem was different. Or was it?

So (being a “theatre nerd” in training) when my mother would engage in these conversations in the pre-teen departments at Marshall Field’s, Bonwit Teller or Sears, I used to pretend they were singing “How do you solve a problem like Blossom?” Which to my mind, implied that I might be a star like Julie Andrews one day! And at the very least, if I never grew normal sized breasts, Twiggy was all the rage for looking like a boy. Perhaps I too could have a shapeless, bony ass figure like Twiggy and go into modeling. (Yes. I have issues with TWIGGY and the fashion industry’s impact on feminine culture. But that’s a whole other story.)

By 8th grade, my breasts were at least, “in training”. When feeling diligent (which was seldom) I would engage in the perfunctory pre-teen ritual exercise chanting “WE MUST! WE MUST! WE MUST INCREASE THE BUST”  while pushing your palms against each other with all your might.

Sometimes I would sneak one of my sister’s bras and pad it with toilet paper. Then one day (after some raucous play at recess) the toilet paper fell out of my bra and my (once perky) boobs collapsed like the wicked witch after being doused with water in the Wizard of Oz! Of course some of the girls had a field day at my expense when they saw me go from a 32B to a 28A. (In retrospect, I find it laughable that bras even come in a size 28 A. Surely a gratuitous gesture on the part of manufacturers.)

I preferred wearing undershirts when other girls were not around. Because let’s face it, when it comes to feminine matters. although we’re loathe to admit it, it’s always other girls that we’re trying to impress. Guys really don’t give a shit. Do they?

In the summer between my 13th and 14th year, I noticed that when wrestling with two twin boys from my neighborhood, they suddenly seemed to find excuses to randomly touch my chest and linger there, while playing war. I remember it distinctly, because it felt erotic. But I had no idea what that feeling was all about.

For a flash it felt good. Then I was furious because it felt like a violation and I think I figured out that they knew something I clearly didn’t! As I recall, I pelted then with hard mud balls, the kind that feel like rocks. Actually I may have tossed a rock or two as well. They ran home . Never to return.

Then something odd happened. It was my first week in high school when I realized the training bra no longer fit. I was popping out of it and it was painful. I told my mom and she took me shopping for new clothes. I’ll be damned if it wasn’t only a matter of months before she was saying, “Her bosom is too big!” In one short summer I had gone from 28 A to a 34 C

Oddly enough, I took more grief from other girls then from guys. They used to tease me in the cafeteria because the table would cut me just at the bra line. When I sat down some idiot cheerleader invariably remarked, “Boy is that a load off Brouilliard’s chest!” and the table would break into laughter. I didn’t get the joke.

It got a little ugly when some of the older girls started calling me a slut. I would laugh because I thought it was a funny sounding word. (Now one of my personal favorites.) But I had no idea what it meant and had to ask mom. As I recall she didn’t really give me direct answer.

I think she said it was, “A girl who likes boys a little too much”.

I liked boys a lot and considered myself to be one of them, so to speak. So I didn’t understand what was wrong with that. Mom told me not to talk to those girls anymore because they were not nice.

As time went on I developed an hourglass figure and continued to grow into a healthy 38 C with a 24 inch waist. I endured quite a bit of sexual harassment in the workplace. But it didn’t really have a name back then. (I even had a couple high school teachers offer to take me back to their pace so i could take a nap. I declined.)

I’m a quick study. It wasn’t long before I learned to turn the tables on men who tried to objectify me. It’s peculiar how many men assume that because you have large breasts you have no brains. Big mistake!

Do we assume that men with large penises are themselves, large penises? (Actually in my experience, they often are.) Eventually I came to understand that a nice pair of “knockers” can open quite a few doors for a girl. (Pun intended. Sorry.) Granted, once opened, it was my job to keep them open. That was Never a problem for me.

Years passed. I got married and had a child. I’d had difficulty in my pregnancy and was relegated to bed for five months of it! (Which seemed very unhealthy to me at the time. Toxemia is now treated very differently.) Unfortunately, I put on a significant amount of weight from the lack of exercise and the depression that ensued from staying in bed on my left side for five months

My breasts grew right along with the baby. I gave birth to a beautiful, healthy baby boy, who is now a young man in his 20s, and who I adore to this day. My marriage lasted far beyond it’s shelf life (24 years). As a result of an unhappy marriage, I let my body go.

Sometime after my divorce, I heard from my first love after 37 years. He drove 3 ½ hours to meet me at my place for lunch. At the end of which, he planted a kiss on me which made me feel like Lazarus rising from the dead. I started working out like a mad woman. I dropped about 50 pounds just from exercise, everywhere but my chest. I started to resemble an upside down pear.

My hairdresser at the time, noticed my transformation and suggested that I get Botox because I commented on how young he looked. He explained he was getting Botox and Juviderm injections. WTF? Really? My complexion is pretty good for my age. But he was in his 40’s and looked 30. But I was changing everything else about my life. So I thought I would visit his plastic surgeon for the hell of it to discuss possibly doing a shot of botox.

I was rather nervous as I sat in examining room waiting for the doc to arrive. I must have waited 20 minutes. This was clearly intentional.  As I’m sitting upright in what appears to be a hybrid version of a dental chair, I can’t help but notice the full-length mirror directly across from me. I looked 20 pounds heavier and it freaked me out. As I sat there (feeling demoralized and losing a good deal of the self-confidence I had gained from literally having worked my ass off,) this skinny bitch sweeps into the room with her very heavy fffffrrreeenccch aczent! She’s Parisian.

She introduced herself and shook my hand. I was suddenly reminded of the ads for  for The Hair Club For Men commercials. As  much like them, she was clearly one of her “own best customers” when it came to facial injections.

I also noticed that looking at her frame in person and then looking at her frame in the mirror, she looked 20 pounds heavier in the mirror as well. I never knew that circus mirrors were part of a plastic surgeons stock and trade. Kind of makes sense when you think about it. Damn! This is the fist time I’d ever visited a Dr. whose goal was to make you feel BAD! Not better. Weird.

“But you are here for zeee breast reduction. No?”

“NO!”  I wanted to punch her out. But I’m not a violent person, in spite of all my references in this post to hitting people.

Albeit, if it could get breast reduction and remain scar free, without the loss of sensitivity, I’d be first in line. Unfortunately, until men suddenly start lining up by the thousands for breast reduction surgeries, it will continue to include scarring and loss of sensitivity. In which case COUNT ME OUT! I left without benefit of her services, but with a $10,000 grocery list of what was physically wrong with me.

This is my VERY LONG WINDED way of telling you, that I’ve discovered in online dating, that my response rate skyrockets if I have a picture that includes my upper torso. I don’t get it!

Why is that? Does a guy think he’s just dating my ## DDD chest? And if a man is attracted to you because of a particular body part does that negate the attraction? I’m inclined to be more attracted to men over 6 feet. I’m 5’4”. Does that make me shallow? I have no idea. If you have any thoughts on the matter, I would love to hear them!

12 thoughts on “Boobs Man! What’s the Big Deal?”

  1. Clearly. But does it negate the attraction? As I recently heard Patty Stangler say, “The penis does the choosing.” So at what point does the brain engage? “Enquiring minds want to know!”

  2. Yeah, I think you’re fighting a losing battle with Smithson 🙂 Although you got to wrestle twins… that’s been a lifelong dream of mine – I guess that makes me shallow too!

    My boobs are not that big but I’ve never had any complaints – I tend to distract men by drinking beer until they fall under the table… 😉

    Thanks for following my blog! I’ll be following yours from now on as well – any friend of Sean’s and all that… Linda.

    1. Hi Linda. I just shared your blog on FB tagging my Latvian friends. They are all 25-30 years old and part of a big Latvian community in Chicago. Hope it leads to some new followers for you!
      Cheers !

      1. Wow, thank you so much for that! I’d be interested to see what they make of it! Were most of them born here or in the States? I really like Chicago by the way – great music!

      2. Lol. I like Chicago too! They are first green Americans. Larisa is in Spain on vacation right now. So she may not get to it for a but. Ariana is here. They ask attended Latvian school on Saturdays as kids. Know the language. And there is a small community in Michigan where they all have either cottages or trailers on the lakefront. Ariana and Larisa both have sibs that may also get a kick out if it.

  3. Thanks Linda! The grass is always greener… Right? The bigger they are, the harder they fall! Lol.

    I never knew that there were 20,000 Latvians in Ireland! That’s interesting. I have a friend who grew up here, but has visited Latvia several times as her parents are from Latvia. I’m goimg to share your blog with her. Sure she’ll love it. There’s a whole community in Chicago keeping the language and culture alive.

    Sean is a doll! I have no idea what his book is about. But I think he should pen one called, “The Flirt Master”!

    Looking forward to getting caught up on your posts.



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