Boobs

I ordered a really cute dress that was on sale last week. It came in the mail yesterday but I waited until this morning to try it on. The image reflecting back at me from the mirror was not what I was hoping for.

I looked like Miss Molly Milk Maid offering you my rack of lamb.

Holy. Boobs.

I always liked my chest. It suited my frame just fine and I certainly rocked the cleavage in high school and my early years of college. But then came junior year. One day I went to put on my favorite tank top and it didn't fit. I struggled to get it over my chest doing one of those awkward, twirly dances you know you've done in a dressing room when the dress you picked was too small.

I called Elle into my room and presented her with the problem. "Huh," she said. "They got bigger!" Bigger? Why did they get bigger? I didn't want them to get bigger! I was happy with what I had before. After much deliberation and denial on my part, Elle convinced me a trip to Victoria's Secret was in order. Time for new bras.

We walked into the store and I picked out a few in my old size, determined that they would fit and the tank top had shrunk. Elle laughed when I let her in the dressing room and told me I could not walk around with my chest up to my chin. She left and I stood there, staring at myself in the mirror and trying to wrap my head around it. This is what women want, right? Big boobs? But all of the sudden I felt self-conscious and so much more aware of them than I ever had before.

Suddenly Elle thrust her arm over the door and said, "try this one on." It was a D. I refused. "I am not a D!" I yelled at her. But she made me. So I did.

And it fit. Perfectly.

I left the store with my new bras and a feeling like I was going through adolescence all over again. It just felt weird.

Over the next couple weeks other people began to notice. My sorority sisters were making comments. My roommates were making comments. (I was no Boobeski, but it was a noticeable change.) After a visit home my sister started calling me "D's". Michael was making a lot of comments. Needless to say, he did not see this as a problem. But I was starting to feel like my boobs were what people were noticing about me first. Not my big smile, my sense of humor or intelligent questions. My boobs.

I know some of you are rolling your eyes. Thinking, what is she complaining about? Maybe you have nice B's that fit perfectly into any any top or bathing suit you try on. I don't.

I have to pass by all the cute spaghetti strapped, empire waisted, flowy tops because I look like I could serve you dinner off my chest. I could never wear a strapless dress without looking like a linebacker.

But I do put things in perspective. My mom was lucky that her breast cancer did not result in a mastectomy. Many women are not so lucky. Thousands of women, even women my age, have lots their breasts to cancer.

When I step back and look at it that way, having large breasts may be an inconvenience, but things could be so much worse.

I'm really disappointed about that dress, though.