Boob-eez
I read with interest the article in today's newspaper about a new product invented by a hometown girl who is a mere ten years old. Unless it has to do with some new Barbie accessory, ten year olds are not your normal, run-of-of-the-mill idea makers. But as they say, necessity is the mother of invention and clearly today's budding females have a problem - something the newpaper calls "headlights". This young lady, Carlie Christenson, has developed a product she calls, "boob-eez" which stick on your chest, covering what the blossoming entrepeneur calls "headlights." The newspaper calls the product a "prequel to the training bra." And every one knows the training bra is the prequel to today's, anything but modest, stretched, up-lifted, lace-trimmed Victoria Secret Miracle Bra.
It's been a long time since I was ten years old, but I grew up in a house of girls. Breasts outnumbered testicles 12 to 2. Before birth control pills were readily available, estrogen flowed on very regular schedules guided by the phases of the moon. Seriously, one of us was either experiencing PMS, having a period, or living in the bliss of that short, but relished, post-period/pre-pms time frame when our hormones did not rule the roost.
I can remember that starting through puberty was more than a physical right of passage. Beginning with my oldest sister, each of us was subjected to discussion about our developing bodies that, today, might be considered child abuse. In the days of white cotton, sleeveless, buttoned up the front, Peter Pan collared shirts, there was no denying the day we first proudly donned a new "pimple pouch." I often have trouble remembering what happened yesterday, but I can easily recall the real dilemma I felt walking to the dinner table. Should I straighten up my back and throw out my chest making my nearly invisible "mosquito bites" (or headlights as they are called today) poke out enough to show the outline of my training bra? Or should I slump my shoulders, and pray for a miracle, that my sister didn't call attention to the straps showing?
Let's face it, even though I was raised in a house full of women, understanding and compassion were not always our strong suits. As we all vied for my father's sparingly doled out attention, we often degenerated to a kind of one-upmanship that only sisters can perfect. The fact that I was taller than my sisters and thin enough to be nicknamed "toothpick," led me to believe I'd never even have headlights or boobs that needed training. I worried about my breasts, I prayed for breasts, and eventually God answered my prayers which leads me to the where I am today.
Be careful what you ask for, people warn; and I've been told "God has a sense of humor." Well He(She?) was probably guffawing his (her?) head off the day I walked into JC penney and had my "girls" measured and stuffed into what was for me, the biggest breast hammock I may have ever seen. I know breasts come in all sizes and to some, my 42EE's might seem like molehills rather than the mountains I see them as, but that day in the dressing room I sat right down and cried. There was no feeling of elation and no desire to run home and show the mammoth sling to anyone but my lignerie drawer.
So, having said and expereinced the extremes of boob pressure on both ends, imagine my surprise when I flipped through one of my favorite catalogs and saw the headline "Love Your Breasts!" I was in the car with my sweetie and my Dad (of "pimple pouch fame") but I got so excited about Blossoming Rose Breast Balm and all it could do for me, I felt the need to share the information. Truly, I think they were impressed and wished they'd thought about inventing boob balm.
Here's what the ad said: "... breast balm was created to encourage women simply to massage their breasts, to love them, and to build a life-sustaining relationship with them through loving touch. Breast massage helps us not only to get to know our breasts, thereby enabling us to detect any abnormalities, but it also helps to support breast health by stimulating circulation and eliminating toxins through the lymph tissues."
Well let me tell you, I'd never before considered my breasts much of anything other than sagging nuisances, so I found this new "have a relationship with your breasts" theory a bit intriguing. I rarely do self breast exams because all the lumps and bumps feel alike to me. I'm not sure I could pick out a hard pea-like lump from a roly poly cyst. I wonder, however, if I begin to have a relationship with my breasts, if we get ourselves on a first name basis and I master the art of breast love will my new found friends tell me if some little tiny carcinogin appears within their domain?
I know a couple cancer survivors. I'd never make fun of their challenging ordeal. I don't know that I'd ever have their kind of strength and courage. I think I'd buy a year's supply of Blossoming Rose Breast Balm if I really thought it would help detect a suspicious mass in my breast. But I just have a hard time believing that "a mixture of sweet almond oil, wildcrafted Lady's Mantle, beeswax, vitamin E, and pure essential oils of rose geranium, labdanum and rose otto" is going to help "tone and rejuvenate" my gravity-augmented breasts.
But back to Carlie. You go girl! Keep those headlights covered up! Don't give into fashion and Victoria Secret advertising. There is a time and place for bosoms, and your day will come. When it does, perhaps you'll be interested in Blossoming Rose Breast Balm from the Isabella Catalog. They "offer it in hopes that it will help empower you to connect with your breasts and to celebrate them for the nurturing and pleasure-giving miracles they are."
P.S. You can order Breast Balm by calling Isabella at 800.777.5205 or check out the IsabellCatalog.com website. It has all kinds of great things. Also "Isabella would like to provide you with an excellent resource that is committed to ending the breast cancer epidemic. Click the following link for more information: http://www.bcaction.org/index.html
It's been a long time since I was ten years old, but I grew up in a house of girls. Breasts outnumbered testicles 12 to 2. Before birth control pills were readily available, estrogen flowed on very regular schedules guided by the phases of the moon. Seriously, one of us was either experiencing PMS, having a period, or living in the bliss of that short, but relished, post-period/pre-pms time frame when our hormones did not rule the roost.
I can remember that starting through puberty was more than a physical right of passage. Beginning with my oldest sister, each of us was subjected to discussion about our developing bodies that, today, might be considered child abuse. In the days of white cotton, sleeveless, buttoned up the front, Peter Pan collared shirts, there was no denying the day we first proudly donned a new "pimple pouch." I often have trouble remembering what happened yesterday, but I can easily recall the real dilemma I felt walking to the dinner table. Should I straighten up my back and throw out my chest making my nearly invisible "mosquito bites" (or headlights as they are called today) poke out enough to show the outline of my training bra? Or should I slump my shoulders, and pray for a miracle, that my sister didn't call attention to the straps showing?
Let's face it, even though I was raised in a house full of women, understanding and compassion were not always our strong suits. As we all vied for my father's sparingly doled out attention, we often degenerated to a kind of one-upmanship that only sisters can perfect. The fact that I was taller than my sisters and thin enough to be nicknamed "toothpick," led me to believe I'd never even have headlights or boobs that needed training. I worried about my breasts, I prayed for breasts, and eventually God answered my prayers which leads me to the where I am today.
Be careful what you ask for, people warn; and I've been told "God has a sense of humor." Well He(She?) was probably guffawing his (her?) head off the day I walked into JC penney and had my "girls" measured and stuffed into what was for me, the biggest breast hammock I may have ever seen. I know breasts come in all sizes and to some, my 42EE's might seem like molehills rather than the mountains I see them as, but that day in the dressing room I sat right down and cried. There was no feeling of elation and no desire to run home and show the mammoth sling to anyone but my lignerie drawer.
So, having said and expereinced the extremes of boob pressure on both ends, imagine my surprise when I flipped through one of my favorite catalogs and saw the headline "Love Your Breasts!" I was in the car with my sweetie and my Dad (of "pimple pouch fame") but I got so excited about Blossoming Rose Breast Balm and all it could do for me, I felt the need to share the information. Truly, I think they were impressed and wished they'd thought about inventing boob balm.
Here's what the ad said: "... breast balm was created to encourage women simply to massage their breasts, to love them, and to build a life-sustaining relationship with them through loving touch. Breast massage helps us not only to get to know our breasts, thereby enabling us to detect any abnormalities, but it also helps to support breast health by stimulating circulation and eliminating toxins through the lymph tissues."
Well let me tell you, I'd never before considered my breasts much of anything other than sagging nuisances, so I found this new "have a relationship with your breasts" theory a bit intriguing. I rarely do self breast exams because all the lumps and bumps feel alike to me. I'm not sure I could pick out a hard pea-like lump from a roly poly cyst. I wonder, however, if I begin to have a relationship with my breasts, if we get ourselves on a first name basis and I master the art of breast love will my new found friends tell me if some little tiny carcinogin appears within their domain?
I know a couple cancer survivors. I'd never make fun of their challenging ordeal. I don't know that I'd ever have their kind of strength and courage. I think I'd buy a year's supply of Blossoming Rose Breast Balm if I really thought it would help detect a suspicious mass in my breast. But I just have a hard time believing that "a mixture of sweet almond oil, wildcrafted Lady's Mantle, beeswax, vitamin E, and pure essential oils of rose geranium, labdanum and rose otto" is going to help "tone and rejuvenate" my gravity-augmented breasts.
But back to Carlie. You go girl! Keep those headlights covered up! Don't give into fashion and Victoria Secret advertising. There is a time and place for bosoms, and your day will come. When it does, perhaps you'll be interested in Blossoming Rose Breast Balm from the Isabella Catalog. They "offer it in hopes that it will help empower you to connect with your breasts and to celebrate them for the nurturing and pleasure-giving miracles they are."
P.S. You can order Breast Balm by calling Isabella at 800.777.5205 or check out the IsabellCatalog.com website. It has all kinds of great things. Also "Isabella would like to provide you with an excellent resource that is committed to ending the breast cancer epidemic. Click the following link for more information: http://www.bcaction.org/index.html
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