Boobage! And nicely rounded dipthongs.

Heard on the quad a few weeks ago:

"Save the boobies!"

[long pause]

"Support breast cancer research!"

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I was giggling all the way to the bus stop.

So, boobs. I like boobs. I like other women's boobs (whoops, there go all my female friends, running off screaming). I especially like my very own boobs, which I have never named, nor ever will. Just thought that needed to be said. Ahem.

And if I had known about this before the deadline, I might have participated. My political career is already over before it began due to some questionable photos from years ago, so why not contribute (and I have a lot to contribute, har har) to a good cause? Oh well, there is always next year.

What? You want to hear more about tits? Don't mind if I do.

Unlike many young girls, I was never really embarrassed about my breasts. Apparently, this attitude was present even before I can remember. My mother recorded in my baby book that I pronounced the word kitties as "titties" for years (that damned k sound) and that I often embarrassed her in public with my observations, once by pointing to the bras in a department store and shouting, "Look Mommy! Boobie holders!" I'm sure that you can blame my father for that phrase. When I was going through puberty I was very shy about lots of things (ie., normal), but as far as I can recall never much about my breasts.

Shopping for a bra *was* an ordeal, but mostly because of the fuss surrounding it (and the fact that my father is can be an automatic source of embarrassment in public, especially when one is an adolescent and hates being seen with her parents anyway) and because my parents were very frugal when it came to clothing. I only got bought basic white, boring underwear, even when what I really wanted was the "fancy" set with the days of the week on them. Sigh, poor young me. Not that I have much in the way of fancy underthings today, but that is more because of size restrictions, and a horror of the tiny bows that manufacturers seem to think that a bra is just not a bra without. For example, Victoria's Secret doesn't routinely carry larger sizes in their stores; you have to buy them through their catalog, and shopping for bras via catalog is an exercise in futility.

[Quick aside: the day I started writing this was "Love your body day." I can't say that I *totally* love my body (that's been a struggle since before I was an adolescent), but the hair, eyes, and boob parts are nice. They could be a bit perkier (boobs, not the other parts), but then they'd also have to shrink quite a bit. Win some, lose some. Anyway.]

Other great moments in boob history:

I distinctly remember my paternal Grandmother deciding that the reason I wouldn't wear dresses was because I was embarrassed about my breasts. I still have no idea why she came to that conclusion. I didn't like dresses because I was too much of a tomboy. I could never sit "properly" in a dress and was always showing off my underwear to the world. Hey, at least it wasn't lack-of-underwear, like my little sister. We made many an emergency trip to KMart to buy underwear. And I didn't willing wear a dress until I was in my late twenties.

In honor of the upcoming Thanksgiving holiday: I once had a (male) roommate who would shout "turkey's done!" whenever I walked through the house and it was chilly. Figure it out for yourself. He frequently got things thrown at himself.

When I first moved back to Chambana in 2003 I didn't find (or really look for) a job right away. I took the opportunity to "let it all hang out" (How about "Free the boobages!" for my own personal slogan, Mark?) for almost 9 months, only wearing a bra when I was going to a nice restaurant or when the clothing demanded it. Some tops just don't fit right unless there is major lifting and separating involved. And architectural trusses.

Let's see, what else? My mom will kill me for this one: whenever she got dressed, she always put her bra on first. So now I have permanent images of my mother walking around the bedroom in a bra and nothing else. It is a wonder that I am as stable as I am today.

Did you know that in Ontario (and other areas) a woman can walk topless in public without being arrested for indecent exposure? And that there is an entire movement pushing for equal topless rights? Cool. And no, I'm not a nudist, nor am I ready to bare my breasts to the world (guess I'm not *that* comfortable). Only select friends get the pleasure of encountering the magical shirt that comes unbuttoned if I simply breathe wrong. It's been a hit at numerous dinner parties where I've forgotten that I was wearing that particular top. Luckily (I think), I was always wearing a decent bra.