Melons

The calendar reminds us that Herself has her annual mammogram tomorrow.  In honor of the occasion, today we are contemplating cleavage. 

Growing up in the shadow of her beautiful younger sister, Herself was a scrawny, underdeveloped and awkward child who, on the first day of middle school, was inadvertently directed by middle-school teachers, uncertain of her gender, to the boys' locker room. Her male peers, who were aware that she was a girl, muttered "flat as a board" in false sotto voce to one another in the hallways, elbowing one another for emphasis when she walked by.  She rolled her eyes in their direction and otherwise ignored them, though she withered internally just a bit. She couldn't help being a late bloomer. 

Puberty eventually mercifully arrived, and with it, the Boob Fairy.  She went quickly from having no bosom to speak of, to having rather ample Tracts of Land. It was a surprise, not only to Herself, but to those who did not see her very often.  (A female acquaintance asked pointedly, when seeing Herself for the first time in a year: "What did you do, stuff your bra?")  Herself had to learn a whole new way of dressing:  it was (and still is) a delicate balance, to wear clothes that were sufficiently form-fitting to ensure that she did not look hefty, and yet that were not so snug or low cut as to be unduly revealing.

That was when things became difficult in an entirely different way.  Attending a baseball game with her classmates in high school, she endured the indignity of being hooted at by drunken middle-aged men in the bleachers: Nice sweatshirt, sweetheart!  There were also the college boys who were all too willing to offer "friendship with benefits" - though no friendship without the benefits. There were always, too, assumptions -- by men and women alike -- that the ease with which one could get into Herself's pants was directly related to her cup size.  Unfair, and untrue.

Pregnancy and motherhood generated within Herself a profound respect and fondness for her mammaries:  they suffered valiantly through the pain of mastitis, the indignities of lactation, and the years of being the primary food source for the infant Offspring, all without complaint. And now, the Girls have retired, and are merely decorative rather than functional.  Herself is grateful for their service, and looks after them, making sure they have annual checkups as well as comfortable support and coverage.

That is the newest challenge.  The motherhood era -- and middle-age -- have left a few extra pounds that have yielded an additional cup size or two, depending on the make of a garment, the phase of the moon, and other mysterious variables.  Shopping for clothes, brassieres, and bathing suits is a challenge that requires significant mental fortitude as well as consoling chocolate afterwards.  Regular retail stores do not often carry DD/E items, nor do they stock smaller band sizes with larger cups:  it is apparently assumed that if one has a large cup size, one must also have a large ribcage, which is not true for Herself.  Things don't often fit properly. Even T-shirts can be troublesome. And she is always anxious about needing to dress for semi-formal, or Heaven Forbid, formal, occasions.

Every now and then, she lucks out and finds a successful garment.  She wore one such dress yesterday evening, when she and her Beloved Husband had to attend a local professional function.  When they stepped off the elevator, a photographer from a local newspaper --amusingly-- practically ran towards them asking for a picture.  They obliged, though Herself was chagrined (she thoroughly dislikes having her picture taken).  She is fairly certain, too, that had it not been for her visible cleavage, the photographer likely would not have been remotely interested.  So mesmerizing, the melons, even now. Will the picture appear in the paper?  We shall see.

As this is a publicly available blog, there is no photograph to accompany this entry today. :)