Wednesday, June 12, 2002

Apparently, no two women's breasts are alike. Does that mean, two different women are unlikely to have the same breasts? Or that one woman won't have two different breasts? You tell me.

I've spent a lot of time considering my identity, my breasts, and how they interrelate. I'd probably say that my best assets are my voice, cleavage and hair, but I get the sense walking down the street that it's my breasts that people notice. There's nothing more disconcerting than a man talking to your cleavage - well, there's a man not noticing you have one, I guess - well, apart from your family suggesting that you have a breast reduction operation. But that's another, already told, story.

There are things I have to consider; I like to run, but I have a cast-iron sports bra, otherwise it's agony. When I was in school, we had to wear a regulation belt-purse, and I could never get my money out because they got in the way. I always say that I haven't seen my waist for years - I can't, from my perspective.

I was mightilly impressed last week at D's to meet a gorgeously curvaceous woman letting it all hang out in a daringly decollete slip of a dress. And she was not exactly a slip-of-a-thing. I mean, she wasn't fat, but she had boobs, big-time. And I could even see her bra (Agent Provocateur, if you must know). I complimented her, and she responded with a school of if-you've-got-it-flaunt-it response. We concurred that you have to wear something at the very least v-necked, otherwise you look like one huge breast as you walk towards people.

How I suffer for my art.

This whole stream of consciousness thing brought to you via this article on bras.

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