5 Things You Should Never Say to a Large-chested Woman

Large bra

I am well endowed.  Have been since I first sprouted in middle school.  When my mom took me to get my first bra, my Dad joked that we were going to buy an “over-the-shoulder-boulder-holder.”  He didn’t know the unfortunate truth of that statement that was to come.

I get that women everywhere want large breasts.  Actually, I take that back.  Women don’t REEEEALLY want large breasts.  They think they do.  Because somewhere, some guy told them bigger was better.  Or they heard it on TV.  Or a movie.  They read it in a magazine.  They think they want to be big because it results in more attention, desire, and ultimately, approval, love and acceptance.

I’m not exactly a fan of my D-cups.  They’re not horrible, but they are just…. way too big.  They make my back hurt, they get in the way of just about everything from playing guitar to scrubbing the shower, and they nearly give me a concussion every time I go jogging.  It amuses me to no end how women assume that I love them, and that if they had them, they would love them too.

But you know what happens when  you assume.

It makes an ASS out of U and ME.

5 Things You Should Never Say to a Large-Chested Woman:

1.  “They’re just…..so….BIG.”  If she loves them, well then, you’re single-handedly helping to fuel this cultural lie that highly-sexualized bodies are the only way to get noticed.  Surely, there’s something else you could compliment her on?  And if she doesn’t love them, well, then you’ve just pointed out the pimple.

2. “Oh, stop it, you could totally go bra-less.”  Umm, HAVE YOU SEEN THEM?  No.  Bra-less isn’t an option, but thanks for not taking me at my word, and reminding me that I’m doomed to live in a “chestity belt” for ever and ever.

3. “Can I feel them?”  Man or woman, this is never appropriate.  I don’t care if we’re best friends.  They’re mine.  And my husband’s.  And he doesn’t like when other people use his toys.

4. “Bend…….AND SNAP!”  This kind of vulgar behavior repulses me.  Especially when you consider the fact that I spend more time playing them down than I do buying shoes.

5. “My boobs are so small!”  I would gladly switch with you, if I could.  So thanks.  For that.  Can we talk about your awesome cheek bones too?  And then bond over a mani-pedi?

 

 

 

 

ON DREAMS….and Miley Cyrus

I dream.  Alot.  Every night.  And often -a little too often- my dreams come true.  Once, I met a guy in my dream the night before I ACTUALLY met him.  Another time, I dreamed that a co-worker was going to receive flowers from her boyfriend…for the first time ever.  It totally happened.

Miley Cyrus

Miley. Freakin. Cyrus.  I’m overwhelmed by sadness for this girl.  It’s reminiscent of something I felt years ago after waking up from a dream I had about Hayley Williams.  (Lead singer for the Rock band Paramore.)

I spent some time with Hayley personally, right as the band was getting big.  She was sweet, genuine, level-headed, and eccentric. Still a teenager.  This dream occurred years before half the band left, claiming that the fun-but-quirky Christian kid they knew, had changed.  Irreconcilable differences.  I had no idea of the relational difficulties she would end up having, or that topless pictures of her would end up online.

To me, she was just the creative, Christian girl trying to make it in the big, bad world of Rock music.

So in my dream one night, I went to a party at Hayley’s house.  And I brought my dog.  You know how in dreams, things are never as they would be in real life.  Things that would be strange in reality, are normal in a dream, and vice versa.

Well, in the dream, her house was a sort of multi-level wigwam.  Strange right?  But I had my dog with me, at a party.  Not weird to my dream-consciousness.

As it became clear that people didn’t like the presence of my dog, (she’s not purse-sized) I stepped outside for some air.  On the front lawn, I saw an incredibly large, majestic, white bird flying in circles over Hayley’s house.  Curious.

Don’t know why THAT was curious, but me bringing the dog wasn’t.

Not 5 minutes later Hayley came storming out, her finger in my face.  “Get your bird away from my house.”

I was stunned, and sought desperately to clear up the misunderstanding.  “Hayley, it’s not my bird.  I swear!”

“Just get it out of here,” she insisted.  “It’s not welcome here.”  She turned and went back inside, slamming the door. (Do wigwams have doors?)

I awoke from this dream, and was immediately overcome with sadness for Hayley.  I began praying for her, without even knowing why, or what I was asking for.

In the months after, she began popping up more and more in the media.  Drugs, bad boyfriends, topless photo scandal… then: two of the band members left, stating that Hayley never saw them as equals, but viewed the band as the “Hayley show.”

Had my dream outlined the spiritually decent of a starlet?  The white bird.  Did it represent the Holy Spirit?  Why was I convicted to pray for her after waking up from this awkward-party dream?

It’s the same thing with Miley.  Although I didn’t dream about her, I feel the same type of sadness, or disturbance, if you will.  In my spirit.  This girl is hurting beyond belief.  And I find it interesting that most of Pop culture experienced sadness at her behavior as well.  People who are, for the most part, pro-”twerking” and not against public grinding during a musical performance.  We are disheartened, seeing much of ourselves in her, albeit a younger version. In our own ways, we too stripped down to our skivvies and pranced around, wearing a neon sign that said “look at me!  Love me!  Take me seriously!”

Even those of us who remained fully clothed did that, in some way or another.  We’re all sad for her.  Because deep down we know that in effort to prove that she is an adult, she did nothing but act like a child.  Lost and hurt.