23 March 2008


Regular readers (or let's be realistic -- even occasional readers) have likely noticed that I talk about my boobs fairly often. I'm not entirely sure if other chestically-endowed women felt like they had to make the same decision I did at some point in their life, but I can't imagine I'm completely alone.

I can't exactly remember when it happened. I've always had a big rack, but The Girls had a bit of a growth spurt probably 12 years ago. Around that time or maybe even a bit before, I started actually dressing in clothes that weren't super big and baggy. In other words, I started dressing like a grown woman. The combination brought my tits to the forefront, as it were. That's when I started getting considerably more unwanted and inappropriate attention.

At that point, I felt like I had a decision to make: Go back to hiding, slouching and feeling kind of ashamed of my body or embrace my gift from Mother Nature and flaunt what she gave me without shame. Obviously, I chose the latter.

Most of the time I feel like I made the correct decision. But there are definitely times I second-guess myself. When the boss stares at my chest when he's talking to me? That's one of them. When I'm out and about and I can tell random people are staring at my chest and possibly even talking about me? Yeah, that's another.

For whatever reason, a disproportionate number of these uncomfortable moments happen when I'm home. Everyone's drunk and there's a lull in the conversation and someone says, "You have really big tits." Yeah, thanks for the newsflash, Captain Obvious. And there's the groping. That's always fun.

Last night, I was at a surprise birthday party for my friend's husband. There were a lot of people there I didn't recognize and I felt like I got a several major once-overs when I braved the crowd of dudes in the garage to get a beer. But the birthday boy's brother was the worst. He was shitty drunk when I got there around 4:30, and he made a pretty quick beeline to me. He kept asking who I was and how I was related to my friend. For whatever reason (alcoholism?), he didn't remember me being around for a million different things. I told him several times that I've known his sister-in-law since we were babies. Our parents are best friends. Dude, when your brother married this girl? I was a bridesmaid and I sang.

The stupid questions and the personal-space-invading were bad enough. But busting out loud enough for everyone to hear with "Are those real?" in a room full of people and kids? That's just ... gross. I pretended I didn't hear. What I wouldn't have given for there to have not been a time out and thus a commercial during the Marquette-Stanford game. The silence in the room was pretty fucking loud after that question.

I still feel kinda gross about it today. I don't really understand why most of the time I can handle those inappropriate comments without a second thought (or I can even find them funny), but every now and again I just feel really, really icky. Oh well. I'll get over it.


Muffy Willowbrook said...

That guy was completely a jerk and entirely out of line. You should feel creepy about it - HE WAS A CREEP.

I had a breast reduction when I was alot younger, so I know EXACTLY what you are feeling. Sorry bout that, Doll.

You're a beauty to me!

Anonymous said...

I'd like to apologize for my half of the species.


I'll cop to a glance or two -- there's 250,000 years of evolution that's making my eyeballs do that -- but it's bad juju just to talk to your chest. Dudes like that give the rest of us a bad name. Sorry.

Jess said...

Muffy, I knew you'd understand.

And thanks, Anonymous. You're a credit to your gender and stuff.

I'm Frank said...

Both my sisters are incredibly well-endowed in the chest area, and over the years I've had to threaten/beat many a pervert who's stared too long or tried to cop a feel. I mean, I like boobs as much as the next guy, but at least I can avoid staring too much and maintain some sense of decency.

abbersnail said...

Lady, do I ever HEAR you. I'm in an interesting predicament at the moment... my boss (who has no boundaries whatsoever) is totally pissed off at me because some guy in the restaurant at our holiday lunch kept staring at my chest. My boss thought the guy was hot, and let me know that it wasn't cool for me to be "stealing all the attention." This has been under his skin since December... good times.

Anonymous said...

Hi there, I sailed in from AmyD's blog .. hope you don't mind but I just wanted to say how much of a pig that guy was! Being a chick who has more than her fair share of chest .. I know where you're coming from .. hence why I wear not so tight tops anymore .. can't stand the stare bears and pigs out there.


JP said...

really drunk men can suck (in the bad way). He is a total perv and deserves no more thought from you! ick ick gross!!

Jess said...

Alas, Frank, my brother was not at the party. If he had been, the guy would have gotten an earful. In fact, I don't think I even really knew anyone in the room at the time.

Abbersnail, that is icky, icky, ICKY.

First of all, welcome, Youwontfindmehere! Believe me, I've considered changing the way I dress. I wasn't even wearing anything super-tight or cleavagey at this party. I mean, I'd planned on wearing the outfit to Mass. If it's appropriate enough to wear to church, I should be able to wear it anywhere, right?

But I just can't let other people dictate how I live. I'm not going to let creepy dudes who make inappropriate comments about my rack dictate the way I dress any more than I'm going to let my blog stalker dictate what I do and don't I write about. Fuck that mess.

And thanks, JP. I've given entirely too much thought to this as it is. I'm done!

Lucy Rhode said...

Am I your blog stalker? I read your blog long before the guy was flirting with both of us. I enjoyed your blog, posted every so often and continue to read because sometimes I relate. I'll stop. I even asked if I should do brackets this year because I didn't want to upset you. I know you are going through a difficult time. He enthusiastically agreed that I should feel welcome. I'm sorry we liked the same guy. If he could date, things might be different. I'm glad he found someone more sympathetic to his anxiety. I'm sorry I had such a hard time with it. You know how great he is. He kept denying you. He and I spent hours and hours and hours each week chatting and talking on the phone -- for two years. Again, I'm sorry I had trouble with you. He's admitted he was wrong to play us both. Why are you so unforgiving and hard? You have nothing to worry about. He digs you. Stop acting weird. I have been embarrassed for you just as you have been embarrassed for me. We need to get over it. Just as you won't edit your blog to spare my feelings, I won't feel funny about playing brackets and posting on his blog. Nor will I feel weird about attending Andrew's book signing. You and "our guy" have a thing. My boyfriend of eleven years and I are together again. "Our guy" was a distraction for me. I needed to deal with my relationship, and I have. I was sincere with my job offer, by the by. We needed a business manager who knows local music. I offered the job and it was accepted last week. Fewer doors might close in your face if you were a bit more open and compassionate of the folks who share your world.

Brain Dead said...

Jessy, as artistically rendered by a 12 year old downs syndrome sufferer, in the throes of puberty