This week I've been thinking a bit about my boobs, mainly because it's Breast Cancer Action Month. I like that they've changed from being an "awareness" month to something more active. After all, there'd be very few people who have no awareness of breast cancer. I can name three delightful women who are no longer alive and available for coffee gossip because of it, and sadly I don't think that's unusual.
An "action month" also appeals to my cinematic way of interpreting things, as I imagine Lara Croft-style heroines walking staunchly away from some cancer that's exploding behind them, or perhaps giving it a good going over with a flame-thrower. If only it worked that way...
As I've mentioned before, I'm rather overblessed in the boob department. I once heard someone say that the test of whether you need the uplifing support of a bra, rather than being one of those carefree types that can go bra-less, is whether you can hold a pencil underneath your boob. I'm going to assume that the ability to hold a 12-pack of felt tip pens also puts one into the former category. I've never tried it but I wouldn't be at all surprised if I could hold a dinner plate under there.
|Untitled portrait of a woman (who loved kitten balancing)|
The other obvious benefit is that I've never met a baby who didn't think I was AWESOME. At least until they figured out I was all show and no breakfast.
But then there are the downsides. Running is not a thing that my boobs are happy to take part in. It's tricky to find clothes that fit properly and I always seem to have to wear two tops: the top I actually want to wear and the one that goes underneath it keeping things "decent".
I don't suffer it so much these days but in the past people have sometimes assumed because of the voluptuous thing, that I was a bit thick. There's nothing like correcting a middle-aged account manager on some fact related to modern American literature, and getting the "Holy crap, Rainman, can you count cards?" look from him. It's almost as if the boobs are assumed to be stealing the brain's blood supply or something. To be honest, I'm not sure how the rationale goes, only that it's ludicrous.
Despite the fact that I sometimes bemoan their inability to look good in anything from Cue (why so many high and unflattering necklines, guys?), I do have a great deal of fondness for "the girls". I sometimes think of them as having wills of their own, which is why I often refer to them as "Thelma and Louise" (the other reason being that if I were perched on the edge of a cliff they would be going over it). But personality-wise I think of them as being like British comedienne Jo Brand, large and unapologetically so, and a bloody good laugh when they get going. But there being two of them maybe they'd be a Jo Brand/Dawn French double act?
When I first got them I thought they were weird and wrong and I kind of wished they'd go away. They seemed as though they didn't really belong to me, but fortunately most of my teenage body awkwardness has disappeared over the years and now I cannot truly imagine myself without them, which is why we should all take care of them, ladies. Give them a bit of a feel up regularly and let them get a bit mammogram squished (just make sure to remove any dinner plates, keys or eftpos cards beforehand).
What do you think are the pros and cons of boobs, and do you pay as much attention to them as you should?