I have had boobs since I was eleven years old. In fact, it would seem at eleven, I would experience all the things associated with puberty in that one year. Some of my oldest friends can’t even remember me being “flat-chested” and they would joke about how I was born with boobs. I have had a love hate relationship with my boobs mainly because others seemed to notice them. I have heard every single epithet hurled at me from eleven until now at twenty-five from males and females alike. Just to name a few names, Tits McGee, Tig O’ Bitties, and my all time favorite, Jiggles. Through these names were probably meant to be endearing, I am growing sick and tired of the attention solely based on my boobs. But it is not only the names but the gawking, the back handed comments, the jokes ( I have heard every boob joke by now), the jealousy of other women, and the back problems.
But of course I can not complain about my bosoms because many people in my social circle would say, “You know there are women that would pay for boobs like yours. Be happy! You’re blessed with bosoms!” I am beginning to feel that this blessing is more like a curse because some many people feel the need to make comments and concerns about my appearance. Maybe my boobs are just the size they need to be and maybe other people should not use my body as a template for which size is right from them. While sometimes people embrace my benevolent bosoms, other times people ask when am I going to get a breast reduction. Unless they are willing to pay the thousand of dollars out-of- pocket for this surgery because my insurance won’t cover it, I think I will stay with these for right now. The truth is I love my breasts as big as they are but I hate the way people are making judgements about them. Having boobs has taught me to question people’s reactions to my boobs. Why would a person think it is ok to make mention about how big someone’s boobs are? That question has been tumbling around in my head for awhile. As I ponder this elusive question being in this Unruly Bodies course, I begin to realize that the blessing is not in the bosoms but in the questioning of others reactions to the bosoms.