Having recently moved, I find myself stumbling into memories as I try to determining how best to live in this space, and as I try to find a place for everything.
Upon seeing a book from an African history I took in college in order to fulfill the non-Western, non-European history class requirement, I remembered my experience of being in that class.
In class, I always felt like the professor was looking directly at my breasts. Intently. I felt as if I should learn ventriloquism so that when talking I could make the sound seem like it came from them.
I’m going to tell you this: If someone is looking at your breasts with such commitment that you have the time to consider the gaze before said gaze is over, then there is a problem.
I’m also going to tell you this: A woman with large breasts is aware of the coordinates of any other women with large breasts.
So, when I was walking on campus and I saw the one classmate who had bigger breasts than mine, I knew that I had to catch up to her. I virtually chased her for a bit so that I could talk to her.
I stopped her, mentioned that I was in the African history class with her and then I asked her if the professor stared at her breasts too. I got my answer from her eyes before her words could catch up, and I knew that we shared the experience.
I could also tell that her relief mirrored mine.