Mammary musings

Looks like candle managed to get some people thinking with her diary entries yesterday. I was a little surprised at my own reactions. I’ve come up with a few disjointed musings of my own on the matter.

Eli, in his diary, mentioned a preference for mammaries of the smaller size (as have others in my presence). “Any more than a handful’s a waste”. That sort of comment always used to make me feel as though I’d done something wrong, that it was my fault that all my friends were shopping in the junior section of the store for the cute stuff while I was stuck over in the matron’s section purchasing brassieres that could double as bullet-proof vests. You can tell bras are designed by men, when even the “support” models are all about form and minimally about support. Yes, I’ve grown up and out of most of my self-consciousness about the way I’ve been put together, but don’t tell a high schooler it doesn’t matter. When the shirts they design gap in the front even though they are six sizes larger than your slacks, you begin to realize that the fashion world isn’t exactly going to be your oyster.

As for sports … back in my high school days there was no such thing as a “sports bra”. Yeah, right, coach, I’m going to jog around that track ten times. Anybody else want to go running with two ungainly weights running counter-beat to your beat and getting to the finish line a second or two ahead of the rest of you? I was in fine physical shape back then; I rode upwards of 100 miles per week on my bike, and could do 200 sit-ups while the remainder of my classmates were still working on number fifty or busy barfing in the corner from the effort. But there definitely some sports that should have been off limits, such as “dodge ball”, in which certain objects tended to be the favored targets. I won’t even go into the school issued swim suit (required wear in my high school since you couldn’t graduate without either achieving a certificate that you could swim or a doctor’s note getting you out of swimming class). My only consolation was that the guys’ suits were far worse. Any of those poor morons who spent too much time gawking were going to end up with troubles of their own in the “reveal too much” department.

Even nowadays, the sports bra is mostly designed for the woman who doesn’t need one. The ones fit me give that remarkable “uni-boob” look that squashes everything together into one massive chest lump, and then fails to provide any real support to the chest lump. Because of a leg injury some years ago, I was advised by my surgeon to take up jogging. That lasted not quite one week. Now I settle for doing leg lifts (when I remember) and using the stairs instead of the elevator when reasonable. Those activities aren’t nearly so rough on the “software”.

At this point, I neither revile nor revel in my physique. It’s part of who I am, and since it isn’t changeable, I move on from there. I do have to say one thing though. I don’t believe in God, but if I did I would take breasts as proof that God is male. No woman would have ever designed the female body this way.