I don’t want to be a constant reminder of your own mortality, nor do I wish to be negative. But let’s be clear about this: you’re the one that complained first.
I’m fond of social media, I love warm weather, and I’m also pretty fond of you, friend. However, this time of year you seem to love to complain about your breasts. You complain about how big they are. You complain about boob sweat. You relish going home and as soon as you walk into the door, tear off your bra and revel in setting those girls free.
It should be a natural assumption that everyone has breasts, right? I used to make that assumption, too. How naïve I was. How I took my breasts for granted.
If I’m having a good day, I’m sure I’ll just scroll on past your complaint, just as I’ve always done before. But I’m tempted…often very tempted…to remind you that not everyone has the luxury of complaining about her breasts. She can’t, because she no longer has breasts. So, there’s that. Yeah. That would be me.
Sure, most of the time, I’m really just happy to be here. Every once in a while, though, I mourn the loss of my breasts and wish I, too, could complain about having to dig two holes in the sand while sunning my back at the beach. Every once in a while I get bitter about the fact that I just don’t have breasts.
Oh, how terrible it must be to have breasts. Real, living breasts that sweat and feel pain and bounce. And even sag. Breasts that are attached and warm. Breasts that didn’t come in a little box. Breasts that weren’t knitted by a kind group of non-profit knitters. Breasts that didn’t require a prescription that says, “Lifetime need, 2X per year.”
The next time you think you’ll get in a little online female bonding time by posting a mindless little complaint about your breasts, try feeling grateful for having them instead. Because if your breast complaint shows up in my feed, I may just post this handy dandy flow chart that explains when it’s appropriate to complain about your breasts vs. when it’s a bad idea.