Why I prefer “boobs” over “breasts”.
Recently a friend told a story involving a woman he had hit on at a bar. While describing her revealing outfit he used the word “breasts.” I remember it was an awkward moment – not because he was talking about her cleavage, but because of the self-conscious pause before he said the word, as if he was searching for the appropriate term to say in front of women friends (which is kind of hilarious considering he didn’t think twice about telling us the lewd story to begin with). He was obviously uncomfortable saying Breasts and it got me thinking that I don’t really care for the word either and rarely use it.
I don’t remember what slang we used in high school – I’m sure my Midwestern circle of friends avoided the embarrassing topic as much as possible. 
There wasn’t much to say about my AA-cups anyway. Later, in my early 20s, I adopted Tits. I felt Tits was an appropriate description of my perky As, and was fun to say. I was definitely uncomfortable with the anatomically correct Breasts. Breasts had a lot of weight. They were mature and I was not. Breasts feed for crying out loud – my bee stings were hardly more than glorified nipples.
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Breasts seemed to me to be the opposite of anything sexy or fun.
Anita Hill was testifying before Congress about listening to discussions at work about pornography and “large breasts.” Breasts were something that got harassed. They could potentially be fondled – another word with only creepy uncomfortable connotations.
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Moving into my late 20s and a B-cup, I stopped saying Tits and began to prefer Boobs instead. The strange thing is I don’t really like the word Boobs. It’s not an elegant word – it’s silly and goofy, which I suppose is kind of how I felt about my boobs. I finally had all I’d ever wanted – actual cleavage! 
But the thrill of buying something other than a triangle bra quickly wore off when I realized I could no longer just throw on anything in the Juniors department. But Boobs is a happy sounding word too and over time I’ve grown comfortable with it and my bouncy boobs.
What I still haven’t grown to like is Breasts. In fact, my associations with that word have become more negative over time. Breasts get cancer. Breasts have lumps. I think it is not a stretch to say that I am confronted daily with that very specific shade of pink and its shouted reminder. I’m not suggesting the elimination of the word – it would be quite strange to be asked by a nurse practitioner how often I do a Self Ta Ta Exam. But the ever-present awareness campaign certainly removes the fun from the Funbags.
Last but not least, the use of the word Breasts that most annoys me is the most mundane. That would be pertaining to chickens. Chickens and chicken advertisements. Plump Breasts! Healthy. Natural. Perfectly Portioned. White.
It’s not just all the specifications for the perfect Breast that irritates me – it is the implied ownership. Chickens (with their tender, juicy breasts) are the property of a farmer, who in American folklore is a man. They are owned and sold. Not my rack, sister.
Now that I’m in my mid-30s astoundingly, amazingly, I wear a C-cup. I still use Boobs most of the time, but have also started referring to my bust as The Girls.
This is something my DD friends have always done. Now I get why – The Girls have a life of their own and will not be ignored. Often I have to hold them to run down stairs. Sometimes I can’t even sleep without a bra, a concept I couldn’t have fathomed back when I was a card carrying member of the Itty Bitty Titty Committee. Gone are the glorious AA days of running around in just a tank-top. I didn’t know how good I had it.
What I need is a word somewhere in between the goofiness of Boobs and the seriousness of Breasts. Until then I guess it’s just me and The Girls. They may make it more difficult to pick a swim suit, but I now look great in a sweater. Not to mention purchasing lingerie is much more rewarding.
And finally, to all those mean girls who made fun of me for having a chest as flat as a waterboard:
How do you like them apples?
3 comments November 21, 2009
Mini-Rant: To the Driver of the Blue SUV on I-35 East-North
IF
You are travelling on a crowded three-lane highway
on which everyone is driving 70 to 80 miles per hour
and you should see, in your rear-view mirror,
the flashing lights of two sheriff’s cars trying to weave through,
DO move over to the center or right lanes if possible.
DO NOT STOP
IN THE RIGHT LANE.
DUMB-ASS!!
2 comments November 19, 2009
