Breasts. Boobs. Tits. I don’t care what you call them. I am just tired of everyone acting so afraid of them. There’s a Free the Nipple rally in my town this weekend and you would think that aliens have landed and are going to rape us and take our souls. The mayor actually asked them to move the time of the rally b/c “kids might see exposed breasts.” Freaking seriously? That further emphasizes the problem. We have this stigma that women should cover their breasts. That somehow breasts are not socially acceptable and only their for the pleasure of men. I call bullshit.
Then later today, a“friend” posted on social media about the Australian Senator breastfeeding while making a motion in Parliament. She said and I quote: “I’m all for breastfeeding but this crosses a line.” Really? What freaking line would that be? Yours? You don’t want to breastfeed in public? Don’t. But when I breastfed my kids, I could have cared less about your “comfort” or defined social acceptability. You know what I cared about? FEEDING MY FREAKING KIDS! I fed my kids in my office and even in front of my own father.
And, as a relatively large breasted woman, I am sick of everyone thinking my boobs are theirs to touch and fondle. (I personally have been fondled by both straight and gay men on several occasions.) Sometimes I think breasts should be detachable. “Honey, I’m going to the store. Here they are. Stay occupied and have fun while I’m gone.”
It’s either they want to touch or I’m told to cover up my cleavage so I look more professional. Remember years ago when Hillary Clinton wore a v-neck and the world about ended? That’s kind of like it is in higher education — somehow having boobs makes you less smart, less intelligent, less promotable than your male colleagues.
Here’s the thing — I have boobs, I like my boobs. You may like my boobs but that doesn’t mean you get to touch them. I wear what I want b/c you know what? I am a woman. I like being a woman. I not sorry my boobs bother you. Perhaps it’s the fact that I am a woman — and a strong one at that — that is what really makes you uncomfortable. Perhaps it’s the fact that I can be both a sexual creature and an intellectual one. Perhaps it’s just that you’ve been socially conditioned to believe that exposed breasts possess some magical demonic power that will turn the world on its axis. So indecent.
Seriously? You know what’s indecent? You criticizing a mother for feeding her child. You putting down a woman’s intelligence or competence simply because she’s not wearing a turtle neck. You thinking you have the right to touch my breasts at the club because you “just wanted to see if they’re real.” You teaching my daughters that their bodies are something of which they should be ashamed. That’s indecent.
Now excuse me whilst I remove my top and bra . . .