For those of us sentenced to Catholic school, back-to-school shopping promised few thrills beyond walking to Kresges with all the neighborhood mothers and our supply lists. The most we could look forward to once we got there was something as mundane as two-holed versus three-holed paper, or a choice between anklets and knee socks. Vickie Johnson changed that for all of us the summer before sixth grade.
Long before anyone else thought of shopping that year, Vickie's mom left the other nine children behind, shunned Kresges and the other mothers, and took Vickie downtown to shop, just the two of them. When they hadn't returned at dinnertime, I wasn't sure I could eat around my growing anticipation. I pictured her with all sorts of extravagant things: the cartridge pen with the pointed cap, the roll top pencil holder, a madras purse. If she came back with them all, I'd die of excitement with her.
As I shoved bites of pork chop around the plate, picturing Vickie in a red stretch-headband, she charged through the door without stopping to knock. "Wait 'til you see what I got," she squealed.
I didn't have to wait; my whole family sat staring at the bra she swung over her head like she'd win a prize if she lassoed the light fixture. I hid my disappointment, hoping she would still get at least one of the good things I had dreamed for her.
She handed the bra over for my mother to examine, neither of them showing any sign they shared my regret. After I had my turn at holding the bra, Vickie rushed out to show the others.
Mom bit her cheeks. Daddy said now Vickie would have something to carry her apples to school in. I asked to be excused and ran to catch up with my friend.
Within an hour, every girl in the neighborhood had rubbed, stretched, fastened and unfastened, adjusted the straps, and pined for Vickie's bra. She pulled a few of us aside and promised we could all try it on the next day.
Caught up in the excitement of being included in the select fitting club, I approached my mother that night to see if my world was changing also. "Am I getting a bra before school starts?"
"I don't think you need one," she said. "Do you?"
Suddenly I wanted breasts. "When do you think I might grow?"
She reminded me we were in the same grade, but Vickie was a year older. "Besides, people grow at different rates. It'll happen when the time is right for you."
That was my first lesson in careful what you wish for. Had I known the bra would become a pain in my ass forever, I would never have wasted those wishes.
My time came, and I got my bra. Even after Mom helped me adjust the straps, it refused to stay where it belonged. I tried not to move, but it didn't matter how still I sat, the darned thing climbed up and I had to tug it back down. At times, I was afraid it would crawl out the top of my blouse. It itched. I couldn't pay attention in class. Mom said I would be more comfortable after she had washed the bra a few times. She lied.
Once the newness wore off on that first bra, I wondered who could possibly have invented the contraption. What woman hated herself so much she decided to design something that would make her miserable every waking second of her life? Who thought gee it might be a good idea to bind her breasts tightly, connect the binding to her shoulders for added discomfort, and then put a piece of elastic across the back so boys could snap the crap out of her back? That woman must have been crazy, along with all the ones who followed her. And if a man thought it up, women were stupid to listen to him.
I changed my mind. I did not want breasts.
Not much changed over the years. My friends saved for months to get implants, I turned down freebies. My plastic surgeon friend retired feeling like a failure because my chest was still flat. I didn't want a hunk of flab hanging off my stomach, so why would I want two hanging off my chest?
I haven't seen Vickie in years. I picture her as a Victoria Secret regular, with a wardrobe of sexy lingerie. I'm still thinking about that fountain pen with the pointed lid.
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Comments: 182
It had to be a man. Right?
But all those men hanging out on the corners in the big city where I grew up would never let me forget them. "Hey chickie chickie" was what I would hear when I walked by. I hated them. My boobs and those men.
Liz – oh yes, or think of the lip injections they might have covered! I guess sometimes we have what we want but don't know it, which might be worse.
Nancy – I'm anxious to see yours! I'm sure we all have one, and they're probably all different. I'm not touching girdles if anyone wants that.
Digital – aww.. mohair in the summer? Poor girl. My daughter did the same, but she hid in baggy t-shirts. We lived in a neighborhood full of guys and there were only two girls, one older than the pack of guys, and my daughter who was a couple years younger. So she was 'one of the guys' for years and self-conscious when she started developing. They were surprised when suddenly she came out in a bathing suit without the baggy shirt. After that, they became protective and she turned into the little sister instead of one of the guys.
Entertaining article. FYI: You might wish to double check the fifth paragraph from the end. I think you may have omitted a few words in the second sentence.
LOL.. Thomas. Since you were kind enough to throw in that bit of enlightened compassion, I'm not going to say anything ugly here, Thanks for reading and commenting. You're a brave man. ;-)
"I could never be a woman. I'd never get anything done. I'd stay home all day and play with my breasts."
So I won't.
E.B. – LOL.. I love Steve Martin. Have you read his book, The Pleasure Of My Company? It's one of my favorites.
Skip – As far as I know, no woman has ever had breasts the same size.
Heather – sounds familiar. I'm learning to tolerate a sports bra.
Bert – come on, we've discussed body parts, articles of clothing, and fruit. Nothing harmful ;-)
Nothing harmful indeed.
:-)
Charles - thanks! There aren't many topics off limits for me. hmm... I'm trying to think of one. I sure there must be one.
Zenith, If we can get a brave man to hang around, I'll tell you what I'd do and they can tell you whether it would work or not. I'd just grab hold of that penis and say, "I'll hold this until your stop staring." My experience has been that men like that when it's done for the wrong reason about as much as women like being ogled by the wrong person.
California, thanks for dropping in. Please, say what you want. You can be sure if you wrote an article about penis size, we'd all be there with our comments.
Thanks for this insight into 'secret womens business'.
Amusing article. Bras...or as Kostanza called them "manziers"
"And if a man thought it up, women were stupid to listen to him."
I bet it was, and I couldn't agree more.
But, ladies - a bra wedgie? I'm lost.
And the comments . . .
We do love to know what each other thinks/remembers
Donald, It has been told that Howard n Hughes Invented the Bra for Jayne Russell
Before that My Grandmother, a flapper with too much front said that, girls with big ones bound them flat, for the fashions of that day.
My comment about "men not allowed to post" was not serious. I was just pointing ou that men could not relate to what it's like to have those two things hanging out there in front. I mean, we have our own hangers, and women can't imagine what that's like either, I would think.
I'm sorry, but I'm one of those weird girls that actually is happy with her boobage. I've never met a bra that I didn't like, either. But don't tell, because I'll bitch about it right along with the rest of womankind.
Stephen – don't forget you can use them to carry your apples, or as slingshots, or to tie down the trunk lid when you have a big load.
Aileen – that's the real question. Someone here can surely find the answer.
John – another great question. I think you guys will have to answer it for us.
Christina – I'm loving the comments! My breasts haven't had this much attention since … well, ever.
Donald – Thanks! So if you agree, does this mean you look at saggy-breasted, braless old women like me and think "smart lady" instead of "hopeless old hippy?"
EB – Beaches is one of my favorite movies. That's where the Bette line came from? I'll have to get it out and watch for that. I'm lost on the wedgie, too…. Thought it might involve cleavage, which leaves me out.
Cena – thanks! My grandmother told me binding stories too. Ouch!
Bert – I didn't take you seriously. I know you better ;-) And no, I can't imagine what it's like to carry your hanger either.
Hannah – the comments are the best part! I love when we can all join together and discuss an important topic like this. No need to apologize – and you can't be alone in your love of the bra, or there wouldn't be whole stores dedicated to them.
As for Hannah's boobage, I'll not even go near i! Nice article, Sandy.
What a delicious list of comments you generated with that memory.
I had to come back to read the comments this time.
Thanks for the laughs ya'll!
Ed, thanks! Ahhh, bra songs. We must, we must, we must increase our bust, the bigger the better the tighter the sweater, the boys will look at us.. that one? Or do you have others? Print the lyrics and we can all sing along.
Bert - thanks for coming back (and not commenting LOL)
Cena - This feels like a slumber party.
Donald - I think I love you, wise man.
E.B. I don't cry at chick flicks. Bambi got me, Dumbo where Mama rocks baby Dumbo and Ole Yeller every time, dammit. And every press conference George has ever done.
Mammary, how I love ya, how I love ya
Dear, dear old mammary
Summer - oh my.. DD is so far from anything I can relate to that my first thought was oil.
Betty - We want videos of the clapping appendages!! LOL Again, my mind goes in a different direction. I used powdered formula - light, easy, room temperature, and unlike breasts, I could set it down or let the husband carry it.
Sadi - thanks for reading, and bringing up the risk. DON'T FORGET THE MAMMOGRAMS EVERYONE!!
Laurie - thanks for reading. The comments have made this so much fun! I went to the doctor today and found out I've gained 12 pounds, and of course most of it goes right there.. so I might tag along on your next trip to VS and see if they can fix me up with something not toooo terribly miserable.. no underwire you say?
You've done it again.....been your hilarious self! Great article and comments. The title must have drawn the men in.
I'm ambivalent about "the twins" - but grateful that Fred still offers to be a "human brassiere" when I start complaining about underwires and such. I'm over forty and hold no illusions about the power of gravity!
Of course...he tends to make that offer before his contacts are in....
Barbary - thank you! I did feel a bit manipulative when I used that title ;-)
Gisela - You have twins?? Please tell me they aren't identical! I don't want to have to resent you for being that one woman who has breasts the same size. And if we could just all be so lucky as to have a Fred to help carry those twins.. how sweeet.
I can't talk about girdles unless I want to let everyone know how truly weird I was.
Frankly speaking mine have always been a source of enjoyment and I hope for my partner/s. But I don't know a Frank. Now I could tell you my nickname when many years ago I worked at a Freezing Works. I never admitted to having heard it. There are more ways of skinning a cat. No one likes being seen as a sex object. And the lads on the floor soon got the message.
Seriously, it worries me that two granddaughters are truly unhappy with their size. I've fluctuated on size according to weight.
Clare - LOL.. I'd never thought about it that way.
Gretel - Thanks for the chuckle - hadn't thought about Gomer in a long while. I like weird. And I accept the challenge. I will work on the girdle article. Give me a few days.
Benita, uplift? I think I could use one now. ;-)
Mike, I'm thinking Clare either just told on herself, or she has a good source.
Where the heck is Becky?
See, I've found, being over-endowed, that most men figure two things when they see a woman with a big rack. If she's not brilliant, then all the blood must be rushing to her chest (kind of like being blond, but different). And if she *is* brilliant (or anything approaching it) then she must be a total beeeach.
I've never understood it. It's not like we have bosomy jokes like we have blond jokes, but I've heard the same experience from hundreds of brickhouse women.
I mean, we couldn't *all* be bitches, could we? :)
p.s. The lactation consultant said they'd get smaller after my son was weaned. *HAH* No sports bra or muskrat in the world could convince me to go jogging anymore.
I got my first bra when I was 9. I hated it and I cried as my grandmother was trying it on me, so as a consolation prize she bought me a Donny Osmond album. It didn't help.
My problem is not so much the "boobage" (great word), so much.
Okay...that's not true...it is the boobage. I'm a smallish woman and I have a rather large chest. Sandy can attest that I am, indeed, not bragging.
I've nursed 4 kids and the only thing that's happened is that they have gotten larger and gravity has taken it's toll.
I am 5' 2'' tall.(I swear, Sandy, I have gained an inch...I don't know how. I was just measured at the doctor's office last week.) When my husband and I met, I was 24 years old, and I weighed 125-130 pounds. I wore a size 32 FF bra.
I just bought a new bra last week. I weigh a bit more than 125...like almost 100 pounds more...but my new bra was a 38 LL. (Sandy put me up to this : ) )
If I hadn't just had gall bladder surgery, I was going to do the reduction this summer. As it is, I have a year to lose some more weight and will get the reduction next summer.
Dickie...I like your wife. : )
"I'm a smallish woman and I have a rather large chest" ha ha ha ha ha... is that an understatement... rather large. She got mine, my sister's, and six of my best friends' share.
Thanks, Becky. I wasn't going to talk about you until you said it yourself.