Let me begin by saying this is not about low self-esteem, or not being appreciative of the beauty of the human body in all its forms. And I'm not whining. It's about a common condition called boob envy, relating mostly to the admiration of and pining for a beautifully full, womanly set of knockers. A full rack. Great tits. For these I desire, if not for anything else, to compliment my sparkling personality.
BE syndrome doesn't age discriminate. In fact, my case began as most with the onset of puberty. As my daughter nears this milestone, we talk more often about how girls bodies change. She says she doesn't want "big boobs" and I respond neutrally. Using the "play it down as to not cause undue anxiety" approach. "Yes, well remember that you are beautiful with whatever nature gives you. As long as you're healthy ... love yourself on the inside and the outside." Great words with significant meaning. But the reality is, once girls begin developing, the natural boob fixation begins.
Don't remember much about 8th grade, but what is etched in my mind is how preoccupied we all were with breasts. While most girls were proudly wearing tube tops that effortlessly stayed in place, I was still sporting training bras lined with tissues. I'll never forget Dave Summers* who use to run around the hallways grabbing the chests of the developed girls. He'd then spread his thumb and index finger to the width of what he felt and announce brazenly to all "she was THIS big!" God I hated him. Yet, wished it was me he was fondling. Where were my boobs? When will I bloom?
That too did pass. I bloomed in other ways. And I loved my body all along and still do. Yet, I can't reduce the frequent occurances of BE and wonder, why do I focus on this particular physical deliquency?
Let's face it. Beautiful breasts have and always will be one of the most attractive features of the female body. Being flat chested makes me feel like a girl, not a woman. A prepubescent child/woman who has resigned to a life of padding to achieve a more curvaceous look. Yes, my boobs are perky and firm. (Think Kate Moss posing topless during her modeling hey-day.) Fantastic. Still, sufferers of BE can't resist the craving for more chest flesh to flash. More glorious glands to grab.
MAYBE what is bothering me the most is that this is something men don't have to deal with.
Is there such a thing as dick envy? And I'm not talking about the jealous admiration of the many talents of Mr. Van Dyke. (Have you watched Mary Poppins lately?) But how would dick envy evolve unless the men in question are gathered in a locker room shower? Standing around the water cooler on a casual Friday afternoon, those khakis and jeans reveal nothing to compare.
Small penises are a well kept secret. And oftentimes, from what I hear, easily enlarge to an acceptable size. Pop culture never mentions teeny weanies. And even in the rare instances when it does, it's a non-issue. Remember the 70's glam group The Sweet? I myself rocked out to Little Willy who wouldn't go home. The life of the party, that guy was, with a persona so big it didn't matter what was going on inside those trousers of his. For those of you who were still in diapers or not even born yet ...
Relive a memory from my youth ... click here
Oh, the decades-long obsession with BE. It needs to end. I wish I could convince myself that I am not missing out on anything. Except cleavage!! Maybe what I miss most is cleavage. Or maybe this IS about low self-esteem after all. Maybe I am a whiner. If I may be so bold, maybe I should just shut the fuck up, count my blessings, and just let me be.
* name changed ... he now goes by the moniker Delta Bravo.
(Check out this link ... the power of the boob. Very funny, and very true.)
http://www.cracked.com/funny-212-boobs/
