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?

Response to Greg and Melissa – “I didn’t mean it that way.”

Like a good Washington D.C. gentrifier my alarm clock radio was always set to NPR, but when I moved to Minnesota I was disappointed to find I could not get the station way out Lino Lakes.  MPR 89.3 The Current comes in but only in the kitchen.  I settled for KS95 94.5 and if my alarm goes off between 7 and 9am I wake to the light and chatty Greg and Melissa Morning Show.  They actually start at 5am but I never hear that part – for all I know it’s a BDSM fetish program up until 7:00.  Last summer Melissa had just moved here so they talked a lot about her trying to adjust.  While I sometimes couldn’t care less about their conversations (like how to navigate the State Fair with a stroller) I did enjoy learning about my new home state.  When I returned from our long stay in England and the show popped on I thought, “Oh yay, I forgot about Greg and Melissa.”

This past Monday around 8:15 am Greg and Melissa started talking about how they went to dinner at the house of a gay couple, Ben and Brad.  Greg had recently informed Melissa that using the phrase “That’s so gay” was insulting to some gay people so Melissa asked Ben and Brad how they felt about it.  Greg was worried this would upset Ben and Brad who answered that it doesn’t offend them but that some gay people will get very upset.  Melissa continued talking on-air for awhile about how she can’t say any of the things “we used to say as kids.” 

I considered calling in but my cell phone was in the other room and even if I had gotten up to get the phone I would still have had to turn the computer on to find a phone number and by that point the moment would have passed.  I listened a bit more to see if anyone else called in, but they just moved on to the $25 Pyramid so I turned off the clock and went about my business.  I know it’s just a little radio segment, but it stuck in my head so I’d like to respond.

First, I don’t think Greg should have been kicking Melissa under the table for asking gay friends how they feel.  If we can’t ask questions how is anyone ever going to learn what other people think?  The only way to bridge gaps are to have conversations, even if it’s uncomfortable.  I imagine Ben and Brad have been asked many personal things over the years, possibly really out-there questions like “So when gay people have sex, who’s the woman?”  But even that is the beginning of dialogue and a chance for someone to see things in a new way.

I wouldn’t go so far as to say the phrase “That’s so gay” offends me.  Offend is a strong word and I think that political correctness has gone too far, sometimes bordering on the ridiculous.  But, “That’s so gay” irritates me.  I want to be clear that I don’t think the word gay should be off-limits.  Far from it.  I often use the word gay both as a noun and an adjective.  For example, a few years ago just after college I was home visiting for Christmas and stayed a night at the home of my dad and his partner who was a masseuse with a massage studio in the house.  I really wanted nothing more than to sleep in and relax but my dad was all “Seize the Day!  Everybody up – we have family fun to accomplish!” so at 7:30 I was sitting on the blue floral couch slurping coffee waiting for eggless low-fat omelettes and turkey bacon when a huge hairy sixty year old man walked through the living room in nothing but a fluffy white towel.  Later, when swapping holiday stories with friends, I found it to difficult to describe the situation without saying, “It was so GAY.”

However, I don’t think Melissa has been using the phrase as a descriptive.  From what she said on the radio, she has been using it as an oh-so-80s subsitute for “that’s stupid”, ”that’s weird”, or “that’s bad” (regular bad, not 80s Michael Jackson bad).  Melissa says “I don’t mean it that way” – presumably as a derogatory comment about gay people.  That’s exactly how she means it.  By substituting the word gay for stupid, weird or bad she is saying being gay is equivalant to being stupid, weird or bad.  Most gay people are probably not going to make a big public issue if they hear someone using the phrase – it’s pretty mild compared to other situations, like hate crimes or protesters with signs reading “To Gay Rights AIDS and Hell.”  If I hear an adult say “That’s so gay” I don’t presume to know exactly what s/he is thinking, but I do notice it and one of several thoughts runs through my head, ranging from “That person has a problem with gay people” to “Maybe she thinks she’s being ironic” to ”No honey, that hat’s too tacky to be gay.”

Did Melissa make all those connections when she was 10?  Of course not.  Little Melissa had no idea what she was saying; she was just repeating what she heard others say.  But that child of the 80s is now 35 or 40 and she both understands the underlying meaning and doesn’t like the connotation, hence her continued use of the lame excuse, “I didn’t mean it that way.”

I might not be writing all of this now if Melissa had stopped there.  But she kept going.  She complained she’s ”not allowed” to say any of the things she used to say as a kid.  Not only can she not say, “That’s so gay” she “had” to stop using the word jipped** when she learned it was considered racist by some.  Not allowed?  Did the program manager tell her to stop?  Was she censored?  Boycotted?  Sued?  From the on-air conversation it sounds like a co-worker and friend simply informed her that her choice of language might be insulting to others. 

**Jipped is not a word I use, but I admit haven’t given it a lot of thought.  Is there a modern U.S. gypsy population I’m not aware of?  This guy has an interesting analysis. 

The bottom line is this Melissa – you just learned that words you’ve been using for 25 years are mildly homophobic and possibly racist and you’re whining because you realize you ought to start thinking about what you say?  Cry me a river then buy a thesaurus.

Like painting your sheep

More phrases …

“Like painting your sheep” -  marking one’s territory.  The herders paint colored markings on their sheep to keep track of them.  I’ve seen red, blue and black.  This is the first time I’ve seen numbers.

 

hen party – bachelorette party, often involving wandering the streets in costumes of some sort.

stag party – bachelor party, often involving wandering the streets in costumes of some sort.

gap year – the year after high school before college, often spent travelling.  I think this is a great thing and I’m so jealous.