We discuss them all the time. Talk about how they're too big or too small. Envy the girls with bigger ones, or the girls who don't have to wear a bra with cute tops. We have friends who fall asleep after a rough night on our cushy chest pillows. We drunkenly stumble towards our friends with hands outreached, we do (free) tequila shots from the cleavage, wear shirts that show them off to reel in the boys. Hook. Line. And Sinker. They nourish children, provide a soft resting place for weary heads, and prevent some of us from being very good at running. Our breasts are something that we've become attached to (pardon the pun). We get used to training bras, and boys drooling over them. We say prayers or embrace silly exercise routines to make them larger (or to get them to stop growing). We've become accustomed to our bodies and how to work them. The thought of not having them, or not having all of them, is just reality-shaking.
I'm sending my thoughts and prayers to Aunt J.
23 hours ago