Last night I was up late thinking about my boobs and how I was kinda mad at them. You see, the other day I was trying on dresses for my sister-in-law’s wedding, and this dress… this GORGEOUS peacock-blue dress with black lace accents, was seriously marked down to only 35 bucks and fit perfectly…
Almost. The dress was a little bit saggy around my arm-pits and chest.
Okay, like super-saggy.
When the saleswoman came to check on me, she was very complimentary of the dress and its fit, even though she wouldn’t make much commission on a measly 35-dollar dress.
“What about all this, though?” I said, tugging at the sides of the dress under my arm-pits. “I’ll have to have it altered.”
She wrinkled her eyebrows in consternation and said with her beautiful Russian accent, “No, you just need a good bra. It veel push you up a leetle and help to feel out dee bust.”
So I bought the dress, fed my needy kid, and headed out with high spirits for a little bra-shopping. I needed a good flesh-colored push-up bra anyway. Isn’t that supposed to be a wardrobe staple? Stacy and Clinton would thrash me with a wire hanger if they knew I didn’t have one.
I haven’t tried on push-up bras in a long time, like not since before breastfeeding. I was so excited to be reminded of my boob potential! All you need is a good bra, right? That’s what Oprah says. Yes, that’s it. A good bra will rectify any boob situation and make any dress fit perfectly.
Unless you have tube-socks for boobs like me; then you’re screwed. I tried on different push-up bras, with padding, without padding, plunging neck-line, full coverage, whatever. I tried on at least 10 bras. Expensive ones, okay? I was prepared to pay for cleavage.
The problem wasn’t that the bras didn’t fit me, if that’s what you’re thinking. The problem is that anything that tries to push my boobs “up” only makes them fold upwards so that my terrifyingly enormous breast-feeding nipples are pointing up at me with an accusing glare (“Look what your bratty little heathen children did to us, you bitch!”)
This folding situation I mention probably doesn’t even seem anatomically possible to some who are reading this, but I assure you… The Fold is a real thing, and it is not cute. I tried stuffing and smooshing my ta-tas every which way to avoid The Fold and produce something akin to cleavage, or even some sort of simulation of roundness, but alas, the ta-tas are too damn elongated for that glorious nonsense. I have no fat at all above my nipple, and there’s a bunch of saggy junk underneath. When I’m not wearing a bra, I can feel the bottom of my boobs rubbing their creepy fat all over my abdomen. Ew. Hand me my sports bra.
So that is why I was up late last night furrowing my brow at the ceiling in frustration and having buyer’s remorse over my peacock-blue dream of a dress. All because of my ugly boobs.
But the truth is, a big part of my late-night thought-session was realizing that, in spite of needing to figure out how the hell to fix my new dress, I really… wasn’t mad at my boobs.
I figured out it’s partly because I don’t give, nor have I ever given a crap about boobs, not mine or anyone else’s. I don’t understand the sexual appeal of boobs. In Fifty Shades of Grey there are a couple of scenes where the boobs are kind of… er… “center stage” or whatever, and in those parts I was like “YEAH FREAKIN RIGHT. SKIP TO THE NEXT SCENE.” I just don’t get the draw.
And I don’t understand the whole “breast-augmentation” thing either. Why add a bunch of weight up there to carry around while you’re trying to exercise? And OMIGOD it’s surgery, you guys! Why???
And I like sleeping on my stomach; I don’t want to throw a wrench in that situation. Nothing, not even a gorgeous rack, is getting in the way of the deepest REM sleep attainable. It’s on the stomach, people!
I am one of those people who, if I were to have even the slightest hint that breast cancer could be a probability for me, I would hack those suckers right off without a second thought, and I wouldn’t even get them “fixed.”
But the main reason I don’t resent my saggy tube socks? They fed my children. I mean HOLY SHIT – I kept another human alive (two humans, actually!)… with my boobs! THAT IS FREAKIN CRAZY. Breastfeeding was really unbelievably painful for me (not helpful that I am a huge wuss and have ZERO tolerance for pain), and I’ll admit that there were several occasions when I screamed at my innocent suckling infant because that shit hurt like a motherf#@%&r. (Sometimes I wonder if I somehow gave my son ADHD by screaming at him when he tried to suck the skin off my delicate nipples. But that’s ridiculous, right?)
The point is, by boob-tubes are life-givers. And that is amazing.
When I was a kid, I snuck into my parents’ room and found my dad’s porn stash and learned that boobs are supposed to be all about allure and sex and pleasing a man, and it was super-confusing to me. But somewhere along the line, maybe before, maybe after breast-feeding, I honestly can’t be sure, I figured it out. I learned that my saggy bazungas are so much more than a tool to be used as bait, or to turn someone else on sexually.
And I feel kind of proud of my foldy boobies for all this life-sustenance stuff. (Way to go, girls!) I totally forgive them for making dress-shopping take so long that I practically starve my toddler while she waits for me to find something that fits. I accept the boobies exactly as they are.
My seamstress aunt is coming over this afternoon to take in the dress around the armpits. I ended up buying Spanx to put under the dress. The Spanx are an insanely comfortable full-coverage slip that has some nice support for my potato sacks without trying to force them up into any shape into which they are unable to mold.
Sure, the girls won’t be all round and voluptuous and perky, but hey, we still have to respect the laws of physics, don't we? The point is, I’ll be comfortable, and the dress truly looks beautiful even with a flat chest. Besides, my tube-so… I mean, my little life-givers deserve a way more respect than some stupid push-up bra folding them up onto my chest and calling that "cleavage."
Feel free to share your feelings about boobs (Your boobs? Your wife's boobs? Boobs in general?) in the comments. (Anything degrading towards women will be deleted, FYI, just in case there are any pervs reading this.)