Breasts, boobies and tits

I don't use the word "tits" in everyday conversation. My dad said it once years ago not long after he and mom split up, with respect to Britney Spears. Coming from a man of 45-or-so, it sounded irredeemably vulgar and I've just never had it as part of my vocabulary. I've heard a girl use it exactly once, and it didn't come off any better.

In my everyday male life, I have preferred to say "boobies." I guess it's my playful side, or my awkward side, or maybe it's the same side to begin with, trying to deflect the awkwardness of trying to play with these things that, until recently, I had no idea how they worked. Boobies. I wasn't on a first name basis with them. I had to kid around the subject.

Now? Now it's breasts. I've used the words "breasts" however many times on this blog and in conversations throughout the day. I can't draw any attention to them with euphamisms. Got to be formal and mature about them. If I start kidding around about my breasts, God only knows what could happen.

My embarrassment about my mammaries brings to mind the fact about what society expects of men and women, and differently. The expectations for women are complex and loaded with catches and caviats. Men merely have to be presentable when women have to be pretty. Men carry wallets in their pants, but womens' fashions can't afford that convenience. We carry purses, the purses become fashion statements to go with outfits. The culture of "outfits" expands by how many options we have to fit our shapes; pants or skirts? Blouses, camisoles? Hair; up, down, long short? Earrings, necklaces, make-up? A man picks his tie like he picks which $10 he'll pay for his lunch with. A woman might spend twice as much time trying to decide which underwear to put on, and on the average day, nobody else gets to see it. And what's with that little bow?? Never mind. The bow is just irksome to me is all. For no good reason, too.

What I'm driving at, I suppose, is how an entire economy has been built around peer pressure on a global scale. Even as a woman at the moment I think it is weird for a woman not to care about her appearance. But maybe that's because - god willing - I still have a great deal of appreciation for the female form. So with these perpetuated notions of a woman's image being ever-important, women are stuck in this place that men, I suppose, never have to worry about. And then this extends to the way we live our lives. Like I haven't had a good hamburger all week. I'm just saying...

And I think I offended some of my girlfriends when I claimed that the loss of my testicles caused me to lose my "competitive edge." I'm sorry I said that, but I think like a man I'm still mentally trying to tap into my testosterone supply for motivation, and obviously it's not there. That assumes, of course, that subconsciously or otherwise you can mentally pick where your adrenaline comes from. Hrm. This theory doesn't seem to be panning out. But I'm a journalist, not a biologist. So maybe I should go ask someone with some thought.

But then again, I can't think of too many scientists who are interested in the "I was magically transformed into a woman - of my own volition - and I was wondering..." if the magic part doesn't get them laughing, the volition will.

-Alex