My Mother, My Shelf—Thoughts on My Boobs

“Giant boobies, on my chest.
One points east, the other points west.”

(Sung to the tune of Don Ho’s “Tiny Bubbles”… and if you’re around my age, you know who he was.)

Sadly, the words to this little titty ditty are prophetic.

I have large breasts. Not a complaint, mind you. I have always enjoyed a very good relationship with my bodacious tata’s. They are quite nice and symmetrical; my husband describes them as soft, comfy and compelling. Everyone seems to enjoy a hug from me. Sweaters have followed me home, and, yes, men have bypassed eye contact with me all together to carry on deep conversations with them. They’ve been called fabulous. My sister says that no one has enjoyed my breasts more than I have. My sister’s breasts are those charming “champagne glass” types. (Though, they say to never drink champagne from those little bowls, flutes are better. Frankly, I’d drink champagne from a jock strap. I love the stuff).

My mother had large breasts, as did her mother, and her mother before her. My mother, Caroline Jean was an identical twin, and her twin sister, Carol Janine, also had large breasts. Side-by-side, the two of them looked like a payload of ICBM’s coming through a door. We called my mom’s bazooms her “shelf,” since nothing falling from her mouth ever seemed to land in her lap. My boobs are a family legacy. I was endowed, you might say….

That being said, I am now in my fifties and Betty Sue and Betty Jo (the Bettys) have become unruly. No longer content to tow the line and just do what the other one wants to do, they now must be coaxed to play nice. Each one must be spilled into their cup and then organized into position. Before I leave the house, along with brushing my teeth, adjusting my make-up in my 15+ magnifying mirror, I must now carefully check my nipples, like a gardener looking for thrips, to make sure that they are full speed ahead, in partnership, and ready to act as a team in front of the world. Look lively girls, for God sake!

To paraphrase the great Maya Angelou, “It seems like my right and left breast are in a race to see which one gets to my knees first.” I’m not quite there yet, but I see now, that things ain’t getting firmer, and that gravity is indeed, the force to be reckoned with.

Blogging off,
Connie

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