Has time somehow warped and I'm in seventh grade again? I don't see OPJH anywhere around me. I certainly don't see my three favorite boys, waiting at the edge of the soccer field to walk me part of the way home. My backpack is definitely filled with much harder school work.
And yet, you feel the need to continually bring up the fact that I am damn near totally flat-chested. I'm not sure how it's any of your business, but since you so adamantly want to discuss my bust size, the least you could do is let me in on the conversation.
Would you like to know how it feels to be this way? To know that you have to go bra shopping, and there's a very, very real possibility that you'll have to special order something because, guess what? Stores don't carry bras in such small cup sizes with adult sized bands. (I'm a 34-36, and I'm so not giving you more fuel by admitting my cup size. Don't even ask.)
Would you like to know how it feels to be a grown woman, with two kids, and be seriously considering going into the training bra section? After all, they have them with underwires and molded cups now.
Would you like to know how it feels to be so disproportionate? To not fill your clothes? To feel like you're less than a woman, because you don't have all the female equipment?!
Would you like to know how it feels to constantly be reminded of the flaw you're most sensitive about, because people think there's something wrong with you?
You couldn't possibly know these things. So I'll tell you how it all feels.
See, it feels a lot like your value is somehow tied to your cup size. Mine's small, so I must be less valuable than someone with C cups. My best friend whom I've known my entire life has huge boobs, her value must be off the charts. Is that the lesson we want to teach our children? Do we want our sons ignoring what could be the most amazing woman in the world, because she's an A cup? Worse still, do we really want to raise another generation of girls who constantly wonder if they're good enough because of boobs? That is exactly what is going to happen if we keep this shit up.
I AM FLAT-CHESTED. I'm sorry that's such a problem for you. Believe me, I want nothing more to fix it.
Which brings me to my next thought... This feeling? It makes me so angry at myself. You have made me feel so low, so un-feminine, so un-pretty because of my bust size, that I would give whatever I could to change it. I've honestly gotten to where I've more than entertained the idea of surgery. Nothing drastic, nothing ridiculous, but just to feel like I am still a woman, to feel like I am an adult, to feel like I'm not deformed.
Yet my brain says to me, "If they don't stop talking about your tits now, they're never going to stop if you have any sort of procedure done." And then it says, "You're being such a hypocrite. You're always talking about being comfortable in your skin, yet here you are, looking up boob jobs."
Maybe I am a hypocrite, at least in this subject. But I'd rather be a hypocrite than some dick who is constantly reminding women of their flaws. At the same time though, does striving to make myself comfortable in my own skin actually make me a hypocrite, or just proactive? Since you seem to have so many opinions of me, why don't you answer that for me? I'll be waiting on your reply.
Despite what you say, despite what I feel, I know that my cup size is not a measure of my personhood. I may feel like I'm not much of a woman, but you don't get to remind me of that. So just go on ahead and shut. the. hell. up.
~Dee
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