Mammary Massacre

In one of those parenting moments that the books don’t tell you how to handle, my 11-year-old son asked me last night why I thought men seemed to be obsessed with breasts. I wasn’t sure how to answer him, other than to tell him that it might be more productive for him to ask the question to a man (his father) who might be able to answer the question from experience.

But the truth is, it isn’t just men who are obsessed with breasts. In fact, it was a mammary kind of day, since a client of mine who is not the least bit shy (and who gave me permission to write this and who shall be referred to here as “Dolly,” which is not even close to her real name) is about to embark on a journey of lifting and enhancing. I am lucky enough, I suppose, not to be able to relate to this. I was ‘blessed’ with a set of twins large enough for me to consider reduction surgery, and which cause me to wear two sizes larger up top than on the bottom. 

I really don’t know what men think, because I am almost certain that they won’t tell me the truth. My husband, the only non-medical person with access to mine, claims not to care much about them, and insists that anything more than a handful is wasted. A friend of mine who is an older man who grew up on a farm and is not terribly accustomed to speaking of such things in a mixed-gender audience, was asked his opinion in relation to Dolly’s upcoming surgery. After stammering and blushing for a moment, he indicated that the difference between a Jersey cow and a Holstein cow was that the Jersey cow had a much smaller, firmer udder and the Holstein’s was large and loose with long teats. He much preferred milking the Jersey cows. 

So in my non-scientific sample of two and a half men, it seems that none of them get what the fuss is about in terms of size or volume. 

I honestly think that women are more obsessed with them than men, and are more likely to compare and contrast. Why? I don’t know. Probably the same reason that only other women can tell if another woman is wearing makeup. Despite the back pain and the near impossibility of buttoning a shirt, the main reason why I don’t reduce is because I like that the girls are a distraction from the double-wide width of my hips and balance things out better. Dolly insists that she is not doing this for man-attracting purposes, but rather because she wants to feel more confident and attractive for her own purposes. I think that is probably true. 

I don’t know how I feel about it. The girl in me knows exactly what it is like to be proud of what she looks like in a sweater. The feminist in me gets her back up about tying a woman’s worth in with her girls and hates that Dolly can only feel more confident with enhancement. She should be judged on her kindness and humor and personality and intelligence. The realist in me knows that ‘it’s what’s inside that counts’ is only idealistically true, and something girlfriends tell each other because they want it to be true and they don’t know what else to tell their fun but physically unattractive friends.

First impressions are only ever made by superficial means. It is a fact that attractive people get hired and promoted more often, have more friends, and make more money. So why not take advantage of what you can? Life gives you so few advantages naturally – so what if you can artificially create them?

There are no right or wrong answers here. Like everything else, I’m a live-and-let-live kind of girl, and if it makes you happy and you have the money, go for it.  All I know is that, as a city girl, I am only just now aware of the way to tell cows apart, and I can guarantee you that every time I see one I am going to make note and giggle.