writing rengeek magpie mind

July 2014

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the heartbreak of armpit fat.



I have just discovered the official silliest piece of fatphobia I have ever encountered in my born days.

Apparently, we are all now supposed to be terrified of exposing our unsightly armpit fat.

Based on my admittedly cursory internet research, and exemplified by the image above, I would worry about the health consequences for any woman concerned with armpit fat, because it would suggest that she is not doing her breast self-exam properly. What we see above, in the damning orange circles, is in fact part of the boob. And the problem is that Madam is not wearing a properly-fitting bra, as the one illustrated above is at least two cup sizes too small and one band size too large. The little metal bits (we call them 'underwires') are meant to lie flat against the ribcage, not sit halfway up Mount Doom like the track of a sidehill hoofer.

Why yes, I am supposed to be writing a novel. Why do you ask?

But the patriarchy is in my armpits. Some things just can't wait.

Comments

I am so glad my weight (just over 200, and I'm 5'1") was not an issue with Blue Cross when I had my reduction. I was having enough removed that I still hit whatever their numbers were.

(I went from a 40I to a 38C, although in the two years since I've found that 40Bs fit much better on me.)
I'm 38I, ~200 lbs, 5'9". My weight has been steady for years now, while my breasts just keep getting larger, but apparently I am too fat for reduction surgery, period, not negotiable. The Powers That Be are so sure that if I would just get off my fat ass and accomplish the incredibly easy task of losing weight, my breast problem would, like, totally fix itself! Obviously. (Nevermind that I was an E cup at 15 years old and 120 lbs!)

Boobs. What a mess. They make it hard to love them, sometimes.