Boobs: Not everybody loves 'em

I felt that it was time to provide you with a bit of social commentary (read: blog rage) on everyone's favorite topic: boobs. More specifically, my boobs. It is unfortunate that they are such a topic of conversation, yet it seems I don't go a day without someone making a comment. Men, women, friends, strangers. Why does it seem that everyone feels compelled to inform me of the size of my chest? I've had these boobs of mine for quite some time now. I get it.

Part of it may be that I often make comments myself. I try to make jokes and laugh about it. So that may be why people think it is okay to bring the topic up at any given moment. But has anyone stopped to think about the fact that this might be a defense mechanism after having endured years of countless cat calls, questions, or just out-and-out stares?!

Here's an example. I was out at OSU this past weekend with my brother. On the way to the bar, I got a, "Nice tits" from a passing car. On the way home, a similar comment was thrown at me from a balcony.

My response was a very polite "#$%& you!" to the first and a "so does your mom" the second. I'm so used to comments like these that I have an arsenal of witty remarks, dirty looks and "I'm-ignoring-you" tactics at the ready. But it doesn't mean that comments like these bounce off me, like I'm the Bionic Girl or something. (Did the Bionic Girl have bounce-off super powers?)

I mean, I'm with my BROTHER for God's sake. Common sense and good manners should prevail, and men should refrain from yelling. I mean, it's not like I'm yelling at them about the size of their penis (although most men would probably appreciate any comment about their penis because it would mean that I'm looking at it. And they therefore have a chance of sleeping with me.) But here's the thing: they don't. Men tend to think with the head that is south of their neck, not the one that is north.

To me, having big boobs, and being constantly reminded of the fact, is kind of like being on the receiving end of a racial epithet. It becomes my only identifier. Instead of being the girl with the fun personality or whatever, I become the girl with the big boobs. And when I try to explain that calling me out on the size of my chest just ain't cool, I become the bitchy girl who can't take a compliment or a joke. What gives?!

And here's the other thing. I'm someone's sister. I'm someone's daughter. I could be someone's girlfriend, lover or wife. I'm a person, who despite years of tolerating cat calls and stares, is still appalled and hurt and beaten-down when it happens. Would you want someone to say things like that to your sister, to your mom, to your best friend?

It is humiliating. It is hurtful. It is degrading. Not to mention that sexual harassment is generally ill-advised.

You don't realize the toll that it takes. When a guy comes up to me and wants to buy me a drink, or tells me that I'm hot or whatever, I don't think it is because he noticed my sparkling wit or pretty face. I think it is because I have a huge pair of cans. More often than not, that is because it is true. I second-guess everyone's motives. You have no idea how disheartening it is to be talking to someone and have to physically readjust their line of vision (i.e. use my finger to push their chin up, or just walk away) so that they are looking at your face instead of your chest.

There is also a certain stereotype that comes along with big boobs. Because I'm tiny everywhere else, people tend to think that my breasts are implants. I have actually had guys take bets on whether they are actually real (imagine my horror when a man recently copped a feel to win said bet)!!! Women have asked me, or kids who haven't quite learned that it isn't polite to ask if you've ever had plastic surgery.

Then there is the stereotype that because I have big boobs, I must be easy. A whole 'nother can of worms, that one. Sometimes, it is assumed that because of my physical appearance, I'll sleep with anyone. Ain't. Gonna. Happen.

Even women say things to me! Trust me, ladies, you don't want an extra 10 pounds of fat hanging from the front of your chest. It gets you plenty of attention, but not the type of attention that you want. I realize that to some, I'm "lucky." Cleavage in a turtleneck is not lucky.

Not to mention the physical effects. Stretch marks (at 24!!), grooves in my shoulders, back pain that is so constant that I have always assumed it was normal. I can't run because my chest muscles get too sore. I can't lay on my back sometimes because it feels like it is breaking. But this might officially cross into the "too much information" territory.

All in all, big tits ain't what they're cracked up to be. Unless you're a Playboy bunny and you're going to make millions of dollars from a nude centerfold. Which sort of brings me back to the whole stereotype thing.

Luckily, I hope to not have to worry about this for too much longer. I have started the process to have a breast reduction. If the insurance company approves it, I should have the surgery in the first part of 2006. My plastic surgeon said that 100% of the patients he has treated were happy with their results and glad that they'd had the surgery. So I'm looking forward to it, as much as a person can look forward to a major surgery.

Then I'll really have a nice rack. And I won't have to use "so does your mom" anymore.