~ Cindy Crawford
So.
Time for me to pony up – I’m the one who charged my girlies to spill on “the one thing I love about my body” after all. Need to put my mouth where my money is. Or something.
And after some thought – I have nice eyes and FABULOUS hair – I’ve decided that the one thing I really love about my body is…
My boobs. Tits. Breasts.
So many names, so many attributes
I’m a curvy girl – always have been, always will be. To paraphrase the frazzled effeminate hotel desk clerk in This Is Spinal Tap -- I’m just as God made me, y’all. I’m working like a madwoman to make myself curvy and healthy and I’d be very happy to get those curves down to a lovely shape.
My one fear is that I’m going to lose my bodacious ta-tas with all my get-healthy energy. So far, so good, though. Doing lots of pec exercises to keep things bouncing yet behaving.
But make no mistake – I am not a woman who defines herself by her chest.
I just happen to like what’s there.
And yes – they’re real. And, from what I’ve been told, they are spectacular.
Cultivate your curves--they may be dangerous but they won't be avoided.
~ Mae West
I received my best confirmation on the quality of my bodaciousness one evening spent with a gal pal dancing and cavorting at a gay club here in town. My décolletage was recognized, fawned over and got a little action even (grope!). The boys loved my girls. There you are.
I could wax poetical here about how the breasts are a vehicle for nutrition and sustenance for the young and talk about how fulfilling breast feeding was for me. But I can’t – because Will was so early my body never reacted the way a normal post-partum body does and despite my very best efforts, I never was able to adequately do the breast feeding thing. Although I do have a great story about working with the lactation specialist at the hospital and having my breast milk shoot across the room and spray a doctor who was observing. I think we were asked to step out of the NICU after that, because our giggles were more than a little disruptive.
Anyhoo.
My breasts, for me, define my physicality as a chick. They make me feel feminine and confident all at the same time. Sometimes they command attention. Sometimes they are just there to give me a boost (damn underwire). And sometimes they’re just a counterbalance for my uber-cerebral self.
So yeah. My boobs are one thing I love about my body. Curvy rules, y’all.
And like Shania says – man, I feel like a woman when we’re in synch.
~ Mae West
I received my best confirmation on the quality of my bodaciousness one evening spent with a gal pal dancing and cavorting at a gay club here in town. My décolletage was recognized, fawned over and got a little action even (grope!). The boys loved my girls. There you are.
I could wax poetical here about how the breasts are a vehicle for nutrition and sustenance for the young and talk about how fulfilling breast feeding was for me. But I can’t – because Will was so early my body never reacted the way a normal post-partum body does and despite my very best efforts, I never was able to adequately do the breast feeding thing. Although I do have a great story about working with the lactation specialist at the hospital and having my breast milk shoot across the room and spray a doctor who was observing. I think we were asked to step out of the NICU after that, because our giggles were more than a little disruptive.
Anyhoo.
My breasts, for me, define my physicality as a chick. They make me feel feminine and confident all at the same time. Sometimes they command attention. Sometimes they are just there to give me a boost (damn underwire). And sometimes they’re just a counterbalance for my uber-cerebral self.
So yeah. My boobs are one thing I love about my body. Curvy rules, y’all.
And like Shania says – man, I feel like a woman when we’re in synch.