Earlier this evening, I saw a photograph on a friend's blog that she took of me with a piece of Bad Public Art, which you could find down at the Reagan Center for Statesmanship or Something if you were visiting Washington.
Now, I've made no secret of the fact that I've lost a lot of weight in the past six months. I wasn't trying to lose weight, it just sort of happened. I know I look different than I did a year ago. The first thing I noticed about this picture is that I ought to have put my purse on the ground, because it's sort of hanging in the middle of the shot in an unfortunate way.
Then I noticed the boobs. Wow, I didn't think they were that, uh, prominent. If I were a guy, I'd notice them first. (Many, if not most of them, can't help it.) That's kind of embarrassing. For the record, I wear a size 34 C bra. The bra I wore that day had no padding whatsoever, and doesn't do much in terms of uplift. (My twenties are a memory now, and gravity has not been my good friend these many years.) Whatever it's worth, in that picture, it's all me. I wasn't even standing up straight.
I guess it's a testament to the discretion of my male friends that not one of them bothered to tell me that all of a sudden, my breasts are front and center. (Well, one of them did, but the dress I was wearing that day was too big, and they were kind of falling out of its fairly low-cut bodice. I made a note of it; guy-friend-in-question sort of smirked and said there was nothing wrong with that.)
I should link the picture so you can see for yourself, but I'm not going to. I'm willing to talk about my reaction, but I'm not willing to point you in the direction to gawk. Not that I think any of you would gawk.
Body-image adjustment is a strange thing to have to do.
