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The Tao of Moobs

“So, you are starting to get moobs then?” I had to confess my ignorance; I had no idea what she was talking about. “You know, moobs. Male boobs” My left eye started twitching uncontrollably as I fought to keep the indignant rage out of my voice. “No, I am not getting moobs because I am not a male. I am female and therefore getting breasts. Rush Limbaugh gets moobs. As do Krusty the Clown, Meatloaf, and Louie Anderson. I am getting breasts, like Jennifer Love Hewitt, Janeane Garofalo, or more accurately, my 11 year old cousin. How dare you besmirch my beautiful budding mammaries!”

All right, I didn’t actually say all that, but it would have been great if I did. I think the Germans have a word for when you think of something clever well after the moment, full of guttural consonants and twice the length of this sentence. In reality I just kind of voiced a sputtering objection having been taken completely by surprise. Imagine, the budding evidence of my flowering femininity compared to the fatty deposits of a truck driving galoot on his fourth trip up to the Ponderosa buffet. Ugh! The nerve!

I know, I’m totally overreacting here. It was a ‘no harm intended’ observation from a beloved family member who has ample recollection of yours truly with a scraggly beard. I should just be grateful she hasn’t followed through on an earlier threat to end my existence. Still, it pushed my buttons more than I would have expected.

I’m not at all a fan of the cutesy little names men come up with for breasts. ‘Sweater puppies’, ‘titties’, ‘chesticles’, and the terribly clever ‘breasteses’. It’s one thing to insult and disparage something recognized and acknowledged as genuinely female, but another to paint that same tissue with a horrid coating of maleness. The sensitivity comes from it not being enough to know my flowering is bona fide glandular tissue capable of feeding hungry infants and not schweddy blobs of fat. It’s that I need to have it recognized and known; an admittedly juvenile need for external validation. A little ridiculous, right? Of course I am just entering puberty, so maybe I’m allowed a little leeway for being emotionally high maintenance.

For the record, I’m also not overly fond of the masculinization of any of my changes. It freaks me out a little bit. After bottom surgery there is no way in hell I want to hear any references to my ‘mangina’. God help you if you call me a ‘munt’.

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About michellelianna

I'm a transgender woman now in the maintenance stages of transition having all the electrolysis and surgery one can reasonably be expected to undertake. While busy exploring my new world, I took to blogging about it with dubiously popular results. I don't have quite as much to say as I used to, but I'm not quite done yet either.

7 responses »

  1. I think that my weight gives others the impression that’s all they are and is probably helping me not to be out yet at work, but I’m soon going to need a tight sports bra to hide them.

    Reply
  2. Pingback: Swinging In the Wind… « Michellelianna

  3. Oh Michelle I feel your pain… The degrading of a female has been an ongoing thing that has been anticipated and accepted part of our social lives. Consider the source and just let it roll of your pretty backside. Miss ya girl!!! Hopefully Alishia and I will see you soon…

    Reply
    • Thanks Sherry! Miss you and Alishia too! Great advice and I’ll admit, trying to catch up with so many years of degradation is daunting, but still would not trade it for anything …. well, except for a society that revers women, but think we still have a ways to go on that one. 🙂

      Reply
  4. I love my moobs. They are size 44D and I am told provide a very “natural profile.” So, I will get by with them until I can eventually follow your path toward the real thing!

    Reply

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