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Getting Something Off My Chest
By Gloria Diaz
Check out Gloria's Blog — Edge of Gloria!
Fort Wayne Reader
I donít think about my breasts very often. Iím due for a mammogram, but like going to the gynecologist, itís not pleasant. They smash your boobs between two plates over and over and over again, to find any lumps that shouldnít be there. Iím picky about who handles my chest, and no, I donít even do self-exams. (Yes, I KNOW. Spare me your story about how you caught breast cancer in the bud by doing a self-exam.)
That being said, I didnít realize I had larger boobs until I met Robert, who accurately judged my cup size. I was amazed, to say the least. Like I said, I donít think about my chest very much; it sticks out along with my stomach. As a teenager, I was a stick. I ate enough, but my metabolism was on overdrive. At age 22 it shut down. I went from flat-chested teen to twenty-something zaftig. And now Iím a forty-something cow. But I am rocking a 38 C or D, depending on who manufactures the bra.
I didnít realize the power of breast until my second date with Robert. I wore a cute outfit, a black tank top that was more feminine than what I usually wore, a pair of Capri jeans, and a red blouse worn like a jacket. I thought I looked nice, but I had no idea that wearing a snug tank top when you have an ample chest is going to get you attention. I never thought about it, because, geez people, theyíre just BREASTS. Not nuclear weapons, not guns, not grenades, just two appendages that jut out (if youíre a woman. Men have breasts too.)
But in the United States, the breast has power. Remember the Janet Jackson ďwardrobe malfunctionĒ? First off, I saw the replay (I am not interested in football) and remember distinctly that Justin Timberlake RIPPED OFF WHATEVER WAS COVERING HER RIGHT BREAST. If Iím out in public and someone rips my clothing to expose a body part, Iím going to kick them in the nuts. I donít consider that a ďwardrobe failureĒ. I consider that assault. And I expect a replacement, you jackass.
The freak out about the incident left me puzzled. Itís just a boob. JUST A BOOB. But youíd have thought they had Marilyn Manson beating a baby to death the way the nation was carrying on. With all the problems we have going on, exposing a womanís breast was one of the worst things that happened that year.
Remember when that soccer player, Brandy Chastain, I think it was, whipped off her jersey to reveal a sports bra? Everyone went ballistic about that too, even though sports bras are about as sexy as athletic socks. Female athletes tend to be skinny, hence flat-chested, hence, not very exciting to certain men.
So if youíve dressed conservatively all your life, try an experiment. Get a snug-fitting tank top or halter top, wear it out in public (or with some friends) and see what kind of reaction you get. This applies to ladies who are overweight. Youíll naturally have a little more, and it wonít be fake either (guys can tell) and youíll probably get more attention than you have ever had. Skinny chicks with implants already know the score, but if you weigh 120 pounds, but 10 of them are pure chest, itís assumed you bought Ďem.
If Iím feeling a little invisible, I put on one of six ďracyĒ tank tops that I have, put on a little makeup, do my hair, and realize that women have built in advertising, and a formidable weapon. Breasts command attention, freak people out, and will have men looking down at you, then up at your eyes, then down, then up, then down. Itís kinda funny, really. Breasts rule the world. Admit it guys, they do. Now, if youíll excuse me, I have a wet t-shirt contest to enter. Iíve hid my boobs for years. Time for them to earn some money.