Funny things, breasts. They are the ultimate feminine body part; sensual, utilitarian and sexual. Like most other parts they come in a variety of shapes and sizes, they point this way and that and are often just a tad off identical.

I’m pretty sure whole wars have been fought because one world leader looked at the other world leader’s daughter’s boobs. It can’t be helped. No one can turn away from a great rack.

My opinion of my own breasts has been that of indifference. They’re here, they’re typical and I’m glad I’ve got a matched set, although when I was younger and they were a might bit perkier, they did tend to go east west. Properly contained, they point the way forward.

I always thought I was average, probably a B cup. But all the B cup bras were a little too small. It just never occurred to me that I may actually be a C. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, I just figured that’s how bras fit, uncomfortable and a little snug. I graduated to a C cup sometime after college, but that was ill-fitting as well. It wasn’t until much later, when I had a proper measurement taken – which I highly recommend – that I learned I was a D, bordering on DD. What?! Those were stripper boobs! People paid good money for boobs that size.

I wasn’t sure what to do with this new information, so I just bought a bigger bra and a hot pretzel. Nothing much changed.

Breasts are connected to the heart chakra. This has always given me pause, making me wonder if that whole epidemic of breast cancer starting 30+ years ago is somehow a kind of collective grief in women. Were enough of us saddened that we had to go to work instead of staying home to raise a family and keep house? Were we at odds, in a tough spot, unsure what we should do? Were we disregarding the supremely feminine aspects of ourselves so we could make it in a man’s world?

GMOs, pesticides, environmental toxins, genetic blips as well as heightened awareness, self-exams and advanced technologies have all contributed to elevating the number of cases. But wouldn’t an energetic or emotional cause be equally as viable? Isn’t it worth considering? Just food for thought.

In recent years our society has been divided over breasts. Or maybe it always has. It’s okay to show them in movies and in many TV shows, to sexualize them; but it’s considered poor taste and even forbidden in some places, to breast feed in public. We can bare them to get Mardi Gras beads, but we can’t blame the guy next to us if he grabs one. It’s as if they have a life outside of us, away from our core. Separate. As if they should somehow be legislated.

My breasts have been with me a long time, developing pretty early for my age and moving swiftly from undershirts to training bras to something with a little more shape – once they were properly trained, of course – and now I typically wear some sort of undershirt with a shelf bra. Curious. They are not as perky as they once were, but neither am I, so we match. Gravity has taken custody, along with other body parts, so my body is melting in unison. The same iridescent lightning bolts that adorn by belly reside on my breasts as well.

They’ve been through a lot. They’ve fed, nurtured, attracted, and aroused. They’ve been smashed, squished, full of milk, poked, considered, caressed, bound and freed.

And through it all I have loved them. They are my breast friends.

“Breasts are a scandal because they shatter the border between motherhood and sexuality.” – Iris Marion Young