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I was thinking about my boobs today. Not that I sit around and ponder body parts that often, but my boobs have been something I've carried around for years now. For a long time they were the bane of my existence. In sixth grade, my music teacher made me sit next Joey Spata, a young delinquent in the making. He used to whisper lewd comments under his breath, trying to get me to cry. Each day I'd sit that and suck back the tears until finally I broke down and told the teacher.
She told me I should try and be a good influence.
The next time he laid into me, I tried to laugh it off. But he continued. So the next time Joey snickered about my tits, I stamped on his foot and elbowed him in the stomach.
He called me a fucking bitch, but he left me alone.
I imagine he's in prison now.
It was so embarrassing and awkward, being eleven, twelves, thirteen years old and having a part of our body define you. I didn't have the benefit of being mind-numbingly beautiful, or popular. I was a geeky girl with big boobs. Although I tried to blend into the scenery, it was hard not to miss me.
But at a certain point, you grow up. You put your bullshit behind you and you get over stuff.
A few months ago, I was playing Pictionary with A. and some of his friends. Instead of selecting clues from the game, we'd make up clues of our own. One of the teams was having a problem with a particular clue. The guy drawing, who I didn't know very well, looked uncomfortable. Time ran out, and everyone wanted to know what the clue was.
One of the men, a guy in his mid-40s, a short, balding overweight man who I'd always gotten along with and found quite funny, yelled
Nina's Boobs! The Answer is Nina's Boobs!
And there I was all over again, back in Mrs. Wilgocki's music class, humiliated, with a big smile on my face. I thought to myself, you pathetic little fuck, I'll tear your balls off and feed them to you.
There wasn't anything I could do, or anything A. could do. So I laughed along with everyone else. I made an even bigger joke. I acted like I didn't care.
I was thinking about this tonight, thinking about what do we do in these moments when the spotlight's on us? I could have stamped on his foot, I could have cried, I could have left the game. I didn't do any of these, because sometimes you've got to just suck it up and be a good influence.
But I'll never forget it.
A. says they're going to start playing Pictionary again.
I wonder if I'll go back.
She told me I should try and be a good influence.
The next time he laid into me, I tried to laugh it off. But he continued. So the next time Joey snickered about my tits, I stamped on his foot and elbowed him in the stomach.
He called me a fucking bitch, but he left me alone.
I imagine he's in prison now.
It was so embarrassing and awkward, being eleven, twelves, thirteen years old and having a part of our body define you. I didn't have the benefit of being mind-numbingly beautiful, or popular. I was a geeky girl with big boobs. Although I tried to blend into the scenery, it was hard not to miss me.
But at a certain point, you grow up. You put your bullshit behind you and you get over stuff.
A few months ago, I was playing Pictionary with A. and some of his friends. Instead of selecting clues from the game, we'd make up clues of our own. One of the teams was having a problem with a particular clue. The guy drawing, who I didn't know very well, looked uncomfortable. Time ran out, and everyone wanted to know what the clue was.
One of the men, a guy in his mid-40s, a short, balding overweight man who I'd always gotten along with and found quite funny, yelled
Nina's Boobs! The Answer is Nina's Boobs!
And there I was all over again, back in Mrs. Wilgocki's music class, humiliated, with a big smile on my face. I thought to myself, you pathetic little fuck, I'll tear your balls off and feed them to you.
There wasn't anything I could do, or anything A. could do. So I laughed along with everyone else. I made an even bigger joke. I acted like I didn't care.
I was thinking about this tonight, thinking about what do we do in these moments when the spotlight's on us? I could have stamped on his foot, I could have cried, I could have left the game. I didn't do any of these, because sometimes you've got to just suck it up and be a good influence.
But I'll never forget it.
A. says they're going to start playing Pictionary again.
I wonder if I'll go back.
thoughtful
I believe that if someone will actually be sorry that they've hurt your feelings, then by all means, bring it up. But if they don't care, then letting them know they've hurt you is just giving them more power and a look into your psyche that they don't deserve.
xo
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pee ess, congrats on the job!
Yuck. I hate that type of person. They make me want to be rude right back to them, because I'll start feeling that I shouldn't bother being nice to somebody who has no problem being mean to me.
But that just increases the amount of strife and stupidity in the world, and no one wants that.
Tell me, what is the redeeming quality of this person that he is welcomed in this circle of friends?
pee ess, congrats on the job!
Thank you!
They've all worked together for years. He's actually kind of funny in an offbeat way, and the few times I did talk to him things were cool. I dunno, maybe he likes me.
xo
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my reactionary response..
Re: my reactionary response..
He might take it as a joke and laugh at it and not even realize there was anything aggressive going on and think it was totally cool to have made the comment. In which case this turns into a modern day Notes From The Underground sort of thing.
Depending on how it's delivered, he might see his statement as a compliment and then the response as an unprovoked attack which could lead to counter-attacks and him not even knowing what the "original" attack was for. Especially if this was done a long time ago. He probably doesn't even remember the incident anymore. His reaction wouldn't be, "Oh, man. I guess I shouldn't have said that all those many moons ago" it would probably be,"WTF is up with THAT bitch!" If you're going to do something like that, it needs to be immediate. Like when you're training a puppy dog not to pee on the floor.
Personally, I don't know if I've ever known anyone except guys using steroids who were sensitive about nut size. At least, that's never seemed all that important to me.
Watson (the pencil neck) Davis
Re: my reactionary response..
The thing is, with that option all it does is escalate things, which I'm not interested in. If I thought I would never see these people again, it would be an option. But A. works and is friends with these people (well, most of them, we were at someone else's house).
There's just no good way to play it. Except waiting for Karma to do its work. He's not even worth placing the Evil Eye on. :)
xo
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From the stuff that I've read from you talking about your boobage, I would not have expected that sort of reaction from you. I would have expected you to be very comfortable with that sort of thing. You joke about your breasts all the time... or at least, you seem to. Humiliation is the last thing I'd expect you to feel. And I really think that the guy who did it didn't expect you to be hurt by it. If anything, he probably meant it as a compliment.
Not that it's right for him to do that. But he's not going to know it was wrong or that it made you feel humiliated if you don't tell him. And, not expecting a bad reaction, I'm sure he took your smiling and joking about it afterwards as a sign that it was cool.
I could easily have fallen into this pit myself. I'm well known for joking about anything and everything. And sooner or later, I might have made a comment about your breasts... but only because I'd read you making comments about them.
So, for future reference, if I make a joke you find offensive, let me know. I may or may not modify my behavior depending on whether I understand why you found it offensive but I will take it under advisement.
Watson (the pencil neck) Davis
You wouldn't offend me...
'Cause *I* bring it up. If say stuff about my boobage, it doesn't bug me if others do. Sort of the I-dish-it-out-so-I-can-take-it rule. I can joke about it all the time on Usenet, no biggie.
Plus I know you. So you can joke about that stuff with me.
But this was in a room of twelve or so people, and not counting A. I only knew about four of them in a superficial way. I didn't know the guy who was drawing at all, and the guy who made up the clue, well, I had had a group dinner with him once. It's a group of people who have all known each other for years, too.
The thing that bothers me the most is that it did bug me, and it's sad, 'cause it was months ago. I didn't think about it too much until A. brought up the fact that they may start playing again.
And I doubt the guy remembers or even cares. At A.'s last party I said hello and he didn't even know who I was.
You're cool. But if you're feeling bad, you can fedex me some of Audrey Carrot Cake. Or just the recipe. :)
xo
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Re: You wouldn't offend me...
But the recipe is already on its way...
Watson (the pencil neck) Davis
Re: You wouldn't offend me...
xo
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Re: You wouldn't offend me...
I've got Audrey's Creme Brulee recipe around here somewhere... and there's Audrey's Variation of Low Country BBQ sauce... and then there's Audrey's pork loin stuffed with fruit and smothered in a bleu cheese reduction sauce... and her multiple rack of lamb recipes (including her dijon glaze) with her supersecret dipping sauce... and her....
Remember, Audrey's like you. She reads recipes like they're pron. And she tries them out on me.
I rool.
Watson (the pencil neck) Davis
Re: You wouldn't offend me...
Isn't making the glaze stuff hard? Seems like it would crack and break into pieces. I've seen recipes for it but never tried it. It's not really in my diet, but I can't help but order it if it's on the menu when I go out.
Re: You wouldn't offend me...
Watson (the pencil neck) Davis
At bandcamp, in highschool, we were playing volleyball in the pool. Everyone stayed away from one of the girls (Terry). The returning bandmembers were telling the freshman to stay clear of the girl with the big boobs. Turns out that the previous year one of the guys had been diving for the ball and somehow gotten his hand down her swimsuit top. She was so embarrased she left camp.
Being a guy, this is probably one of those areas I'm never going to quite understand. Both of these girls were larger than average, but as this was post-Twiggy and pre-Calista, fashionably shaped. I can imagine that many late blooming A-cup gals were not very happy growing up. Aside from the unwanted attention, having back aches and pain during sports from large breasts doesn't sound like much fun either. Is there any overlap between too-big and too-small?
Another area I'm not clear on is the dividing line between getting too little attention and too much. Ok, too little I think I understand. Is too much due to just plain too much, attention from the wrong guys, attention to the wrong body parts, or the wrong kind of attention?
I'm glad I posted...
As for what's too big/what's too little, well, every girl's got a different answer. All of them and none of them are right.
As for attention, well, that's a whole 'nother thing entirely.
I feel like if I bring it up, then it's fair game. Although I'm pretty free with boob talk online, I'm generally not that way with total strangers. I don't mind that someone takes a quick peek, 'cause they're out there, and well, it's human nature. If I saw someone with a partially digested twin growing out of the side of their body, I'd take a quick glance. How could I not? But then I'd focus elsewhere, and wouldn't bring it up unless they did first.
Before my first date with A., I told him I had a big chest, so as not to surprise him, and told him he'd better keep eye contact. But we had been writing awhile, and he was respectful in sweet in email - just as he was in person. But it was a one-on-one situation.
Girls sort of get a get-out-of-jail-free card, especially other big-boobed girls, because it's sort of a special club. We've all been through the same BS.
If he had said something in a small, two or three person conversation, it wouldn't have bothered me so much. It's happened before, and I can charm and deflect. But it was in front of a group, in front of a group that I didn't know very well, and it seemed that the intent was to embarrass. Which is precisely why I didn't want to react like it embarrassed me at all.
xo
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Re attention: when in doubt, don't go there. Icky attention is clearly focused on one body part, or the body in general. It's one thing when someone like your partner checks you out. It's another thing when some greebly guy, or someone you don't know well, does it. It doesn't matter if your brain is screaming, "HOLY JEEBUS LOOK AT THE KNOCKERS ON HER!" Just don't go there. If you must look, learn to develop your peripheral vision so you can do it unobtrusively, although possibly if you're like many men, when you think you're being unobtrusive, you're still being rampantly obvious. I have a few male acquaintances who still talk to my breasts and after years of training it's not like there's a shelf there or nuthin'. It's actually even more impressive because I'm so much shorter than most men, and they really have to crank their neck downwards to get to the boob level.
I remember having a stranger, a customer at one of the places I worked, tell me to turn around. I thought he was going to politely tell me I had something stuck to my back (I worked in a print shop and it wasn't uncommon to get covered in tape or pieces of paper). No, he told me to turn around and then commented on my legs and ass. It made my skin crawl.
Anyway, when in doubt, even if there is only a teeny smidgen of doubt, don't go there.
Re attention: when in doubt, don't go there. It's amazing how friendly women can be if you look them in the eyes. It's almost as if there were, *gasp*, people. I'd have to admit, I'm an offender in this area (sometimes anyway).
some greebly guy I think the greebly-guy gene must be linked to the ignore-negative-feedback gene to explain how it survived in the gene pool. Kiding aside, what you're saying is that attention by a guy that is unsuitable is unwanted. Since the unsuitable-ness may solely be in the girl's mind, how would the guy know not to look?
if you're like many men, when you think you're being unobtrusive, you're still being rampantly obvious. Agreed. Apparently the amount and position of the whites of the eye allows an observer to very closely estimate the target of a gaze. Although I don't have the equipment to receive a boob glance (and can't recall thinking "What, is my fly open?" when talking with a female) I do have first hand experience with judging where people's eyes are focused. I recently changed my hairstyle to something rather radical (for me). It's funny to watch people that know me well but haven't seen me since I changed my hair take furtive glances at it during a conversation. It is quite obvious to me what they're doing even though the angle between my eyes and my hair is quite small.
Since I've lost a bit of weight, I also get the full-body-scan from people I haven't seen in a while. After the third interation of "You look great", scan, "Thanks", "You really look great", scan,... it does get a little weird. Expecially from the guys.
One should apply the standard of "reasonability" to the situation. Reasonably, one should assume that unless one knows someone quite well, certain things are just socially inappropriate. The essence of smooth social maintenance is that there may be many things you want to do, but don't.
This principle operates regardless of one's Greebliness Quotient. Even if I thought a guy was really hot, I would still find it icky if he stared openly at my breasts the first time I met him (unless we were meeting at, say, a swingers club and I was wearing pasties).
Men sometimes have a hard time comprehending the yukkiness of inappropriately sexualized male-female interaction because if they imagine the situation reversed, it's a fantasy situation of some really attractive woman coming on to them. They don't imagine it as unwanted attention. Perhaps conjure up instead an image of a gross old man staring at and commenting on your crotch.
"Try and be a good influence"---ahhhh, the joys of growing up female in the 80s.
I always thought the stereotypical reaction to the bully at school of "Son, I'm going to teach you to box" to be the wrong approach, but I have my doubts.
xo
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Better Moments
He did not have a right to make a joke at your expense. You could always play Pictionary again and at your turn, draw the teeniest, tiniest little dot and say that you drew his brain. I also suspect that the "nice" people there probably thought the better of you for not making a scene and I'll bet they were embarrassed for him, because I know the type. You have to include him/her at these things but they are people that have no tact.
Re: Better Moments
Ah, people are weird.
xo
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xo
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For the next time...
For this one, I think I would channel Miss Manners: turn a cold eye on the offender and stiffly say "Is that supposed to be funny?" You could even practice it a few times. Then you'll be ready if this -- or any other -- guy oversteps the bounds.
Hugs!
Re: For the next time...
xo
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