Go Pink or Go Home

When the NFL sponsors Breast Cancer Awareness month and players are donning pink accessories (yes, I said accessories, because that's what pink gloves and shoes are), you know that the business of boobs isn't kidding around.  Forget the comforting autumnal colors of rust, gold, and burnt orange.  October is the month of pink.  Though I'm blessed never to have been touched by the disease personally, it doesn't mean that I can't join the celebration of boobs and the fight against breast cancer.  Personally, I love MY boobs and I don't want anything to ever happen to them--no matter how small and insignificant my ex boyfriend thought they were, no matter how asymmetrical I know them to be.  They're beautiful and this month especially, I'm proud of them.

The NFL kicks breast cancer's ass with these pretty pink cleats...
...now if only I could kick my ex boyfriend's with a pair of these.

A few months ago, when I was beating myself up over a recent breakup, rehashing all the little red flags that littered my relationship, I remembered a conversation I had with my ex.  I had just stepped out of the shower, and in reaching for my towel, I let him get a glimpse of my entire body in it's most vulnerable state: wet and completely bare.  In the thirty-odd seconds or so that it took me to drape a towel over myself, my ex shrugged, looked mildly bewildered and said, "I guess I'll have to learn to be a butt guy."  Uhm, excuse me? A "butt guy"? As opposed to the "boob guy" he clearly had already identified himself as?   I let his comment hang there in the air, waiting for some explanation that would crumble the insecurity that was building up inside.  He laughed, jumped up next to me, playfully smacked my rear and grinned, "Because you have the cutest ass I've ever seen!!" I smiled and shrugged him off, but the implication had been made.  I was hurt.  Were my boobs not up to standard? Too small? Not to his satisfaction?  If he thought himself a "boob guy" for his entire adolescent and adult life, how would my body convince him otherwise?

As it would turn out, it was this very moment in our relationship that haunted me again and again after I learned of his infidelity months later.  For me, the infidelity proved it: he must have been a boob guy through and through, and just couldn't resist the temptation of another girl's D cup.  For a long time I struggled with the hard truth that I had spent so much energy loving a man that would cheat on me, a man that ultimately didn't love and respect the body I have.  I also spent a lot of time wondering if my boobs were always going to be inadequate.  But eventually (after a few visits to a therapist, late night phone calls with the BFFs, and heart-to-hearts with Mom), I gave up the insecurities.  I learned to let it go.  I restored the confidence and love of my body that I always had, but just forgot about for a while.  And this October, I'm remembering just how much I love my boobs in particular--as perfect and small and asymmetrical as they are.  I'm lucky to have them.  And I'm willing to take part in BCA month to help other women save and cherish their boobs too.  

Want to look good while doing good? Yeah, me too. Go pink or go home, baby. Buy beauty that gives back to a busty and beautiful cause:

 

xoxo,

Pretty