free stats Carmen's Web: My Breast Friends, part I
Wednesday, January 24, 2007
My Breast Friends, part I
My workday starts at 8:30am, which means that if I leave my house at 7:45, I can make it to school, park, and be in my classroom by 8:15. I try to leave a bit earlier, though, because I have the kind of job where the day cannot begin until I arrive. If I'm not there, everything goes topsy turvy. Kinda makes me feel all powerful and mighty, but also keeps me up at night because I worry about oversleeping.

Alternate side parking forces me, however, to leave my house by 6:45 on Wednesdays so I can be assured a parking spot near the school and not in the dodgier areas of the school's godawful neighborhood. My father always leaves the house before I do, but this morning we crossed paths in the kitchen as I was making my tea. I kissed him good morning, went to my room to put my jacket on, returned to get my tea mug only to hear him tell me nervously:

"When you teach kids at the puberty age, you should wear things that won't distract them. You have to make sure to wear things that won't make them look at things."

"Uh huh," I said. This is not what a woman wants to hear from her father. And I'm sure it wasn't something he wanted to say either.

He continued, "I'm being serious. Didn't anyone tell you this? Hasn't anyone said anything?"

"Uh huh," I said again and just walked out.

I admit, the turtleneck I was wearing at home was slightly form fitting but only because you're supposed to wear a sweater over it. I left said sweater at work and was planning on wearing it when I got there. I didn't tell him this because the entire conversation was already offensive. At this age and level of my life, don't you think I know what I should and should not wear?

My breasts have always invited more attention than they should have, and most of it has usually been negative. Remember last summer's confrontation?

It never really matters what I'm wearing. I could be wearing my 6'3" brother's x-large shirt and my breasts will still be there and someone will always have a comment. Now, I'm not saying that people shouldn't look at my breasts. If I'm wearing something that reveals cleavage, I KNOW that people (men and women) will look. If I'm wearing a tight shirt, people will look. I'm not saying that people ought not to look. People simply need to keep certain comments to themselves.

When I was younger and my mother was the one buying me all my clothing she'd always get me the largest size possible in tops. As a result, I would always be a walking fashion disaster. Certain clothes are meant to be form fitting. But because I had these mountains, she never thought them appropriate. When I finally started buying clothes for myself I was shocked when I realized that I wasn't the plus size my mother convinced me that I was.

I began resenting my big breasts. Having them denied me certain clothes I wanted to wear. When I would buy the large shirts, I'd look like a librarian. If I bought their medium counterparts, I'd be subjected to the "you want to show off your're an exhibitionist" bullshit.

I began to be extremely aware of my breasts. They were there, ALL THE TIME. I couldn't go through a day without someone saying something stupid. People have often assumed that I use my breasts to get attention when the only reason I choose my tops is because they look much nicer when they actually fit than when I'm swimming in them. The problem, according to my mother, is that I have an hourglass figure and tight tops accentuate that. If I were slightly fatter, the big breasts in and of themselves wouldn't be a problem.

I hid my breasts when I got to Egypt for college. When I was out in the streets I'd wear a shirt over my shirt. Not happy with covering up like that, I also bought sports bras to squish them into oblivion. I wore what I wanted to wear when I was in AUC, but after a couple of months of crap I even stopped that.

When I got back to NY it took me some time to "unveil" and when I did I was accused of showing my puppies off. I just could never win with these breasts. It was always something.

I think I managed to develop some ill feelings towards my breasts as a result. Subconsciously, of course. I was never consciously ashamed of my breasts. But last year something happened that made me realize what kind of feelings I was really harboring about my breasts. I was ashamed of myself for feeling like that and for allowing my subconcious to dictate so many of the choices I've made in my life.

I think what bothers me the most in this is the liberty 95% of people take with regards to commenting on the breasts, whether it was to do with my clothing, cleavage, or general size. It's highly inappropriate. I don't care if you think that my clothes are tight. I don't care if you think my cleavage is hanging out. You don't have the right to criticize. If they bother you so much, don't look.
Thoughts shared by Carmen at 4:35 PM
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Who: Carmen

xx-something egyptia-yorker who's spent over half her life stuck in two worlds not of her own making. unable and unwilling to fully embrace one identity over the other, she created (is trying to create) her own place in the world where people love each other unconditionally, irrespective of artificial boundaries, and where dancing merengue is as necessary to life as breathing air.

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