The Power of the Boobs

“Have you told her?” Asked a woman I work with.
“Told her what?” I replied.
“ About her new power.” She said gesturing to her chest.
“Ohhhh…I think The Beast has an inkling. The guys at the corner coffee cart gave her a coffee, orange juice, bagel and donut for free this morning—I think she is beginning to suspect something is going on and I beginning to think that I should stop taking her to work on school holidays.”

My co-worker is right—girls need to be told about the power of the boobs. I feel there should be a handbook that goes along with the boobs--like a user’s guide. They could sell it at that teen bra store that I love—Aerie. Not a dreary book like, Our Bodies Ourselves, that tries to convince women that having an orgasm with a man is akin to seeing Loch Ness monster or discovering Camelot. But something fun like a younger girls version of Sex Tips for Girls by Cynthia Helmel…but without the Sex part…please….

Although there are countless joys to having boobs—how they look, how they feel, how wonderfully responsive men are to them…there is the flip side. The boobs attract jerks and pigs. With the power of the boobs comes a responsibility to clearly and firmly establish boundaries with boys.

Of course what scares a mother the most are the dangers of the predators, the scum bags and the generally jerky who will try to use any type of pressure—psychological or physical to get closer to their desire--all require an unequivocal—“I WILL call the police, I WILL file a crime report and I WILL ruin your life…if need be. “ Girls need to be given tools for self defense. I think I will write –“Boobs, the User’s Guide.” Look for it on Amazon at Christmas time.

Teen Bra Heaven--Aerie

This is a public service announcement for all moms with tween/teen daughters.

We all know the initial excitement of getting the first bra soon fades…especially when Target’s girls section is no longer an option--things become a little more complicated. And what shopping experience can be worse than being the mother of a tween/teen looking for a bra—let me tell you…not too many.

After a quick look at Lord and Taylors where their bra selection seemed limited to push-ups and dowager LARGE cups styles, we tried H & M—too sexy, Victoria Secret’s…no way. I was just about call it quits at the mall and take The Beast into the Town Shop on the Upper Westside—until we came across Aerie—the prefect mix between J Crew and Victoria Secret’s—a sort of clean-cut sexy—if that is possible.

A fresh faced girl in jeans and t-shirt showed us the their system. They have drawers of bras categorized by chest and cup size —so you can try on every style they carry in your size in one sitting. There is a little call button in the dressing room so you can call for assistance without getting dressed and tracking down the sales person and all the bra styles are named with girl names. Once you find the style you like—you just go to that rack, pick your size and your favorite colors. It is brilliant and simple.

Three bras and $75 later--happy daughter and relived mother.

The Smile

The Beast and I always get smiles from people when we walk into town. We look friendly and happy and why not smile at us—right? But the other day we were walking back from town chattering away and there was a man walking toward us and he was smiling…not at me, not at us, but at The Boobs.

The boobs that just appeared out of nowhere just before the summer. OMG The Beast has no idea of the power--she just seems to view them as another accessory to fill out her clothes. She, and her friends, seem to have none of the shyness that I felt when my body changed—she just sees it as new fashion possibility.

I stare at this man—he is old. Older than I am. A lot older. He is still looking. The Beast, again, does not have a clue. I click my fingers to dislodge his eyes from my daughter’s twelve year chest. He glances up. I catch his eye. “ TWELVE” I say.

He averts his eyes and immediately turns red.

What can a mother do? There will be days, and soon, when I will not be there to be the bitch to the leering pig.