My breast are large. There’s nothing wrong with that on it’s own. But, in the grand scheme of life, large chested women do not reign supreme.

There is a misconception that having large boobs benefits you. Well, if they’re perky or filled with silicone and you have a tiny waist, that might be true. I don’t know, I don’t fall into that category. If you do, tell me, do you feel like you have an advantage? I would love to know.

That being said, being chesty does have its perks. One being that every top I own makes me look like Jessica Rabbit, but on the daily my chest is just genuinely inconvenient. And this inconvenience is not made better by other people’s comments. Oh, what comments you say? Well here, let me tell you.

1. “Wow, your chest is huge!”

Now, I have heard this from people within my family to complete strangers. And while I cannot speak for all busty women, I can say, “Stop saying this to me.” Seriously. Did you think that you are the first person to tell me this? No, you are not. In fact, very likely, you’re not even the first person today. And, don’t you think I know how unnecessarily large my mammary glands are? Because I do. Trust me; the first time I spent $70.00 on a decent looking bra at a specialty store because I could not find my bra size anywhere else, it was pretty obvious.

2. “Oh, you’re so lucky. Men must look at you all the time!”

One, stop assuming I get validation through how many men are sexually attracted to me. I am not fulfilled by some perv who stares at my chest more than I am by my job, my writing, my friends, my family and my dogs. My boobs, large or not, are not indicative of my self worth.

Two, seventy- dollars. Seven-zero. Plus tax. My wallet sorely disagrees with you. I physically cannot afford the cost of bras in my size. Trust me, those creepers who ogle at my milk sacks aren’t paying the cost of their mandatory shelves. And not to mention the back pain, and shoulder pain. Or the pain of knocking into people who miscalculated where they had to move to successfully avoid my bosom. No, luck does not live in these tatas.

3. “Your bra strap is showing,” or “Are you sure you want to wear that?” or “You need to cover up!”

I would have separated these as three separate things except they all stem from the same problem. A need to vilify a women’s sexuality. Contrary to how this post may sound, I actually love my bongos. They make me feel sexy which in turn makes me feel confident. And no, I don’t feel sexy because people are watching me, but because I have grown into my body. And when you move out of the awkward teenage years where your body is the enemy and grow into yourself, you find that the sexiest thing in the world is feeling yourself. And I do.

Shockingly, often I find it is women who say this to me. And, what did you think I wasn’t wearing a bra or that I forgot about my chichis when I was purchasing this tantalizing thin garment? Stop being ashamed of your body. I understand that your discomfort with my gazongas comes from years and years of subtle conditioning which has taught you that a woman who doesn’t mind displaying her assets is either easy or in danger, but it is not true. We have to stop stigmatizing women for their choice of clothing (and what it does and doesn’t reveal), and end this awful need to shift the blame of men who harass and assault women as being the fault of a man-made skirt or shirt.

It is not a real person. It is an article of clothing. Not real. Different. The clothing says virtually nothing about someone, and it definitely does not make anyone do anything.

4. “What size are you?”

Stop. Please. Just stop right there, and let me say, “How big is your penis?” There are some things you just don’t ask. Ever. Period. It is literally none of your business. If you have the gall to ask me what my bra size is, don’t be surprised if I use a large cupped bra as a weapon to hit you over the head.

5. “.........” (silence as someone touches my boobs to see if they’re real)

What is wrong with you? Why, just like in number four, do I have to explicitly state this. No, you do not get to put your hands on the twins. Ever. Period. And yet, here I am explaining that chesticles are not the same as community chest, and is not a public park. And because the ladies are a private institution, they get to determine who fondles them and when.

The truth is, my experience is endemic of the systemic disease called “sexism.” Yes, good ole fashioned sexism rears its ugly head once again. Too often society allows men and women to publicly harass women for their brain, education, qualifications and (most commonly) their body. My body has somehow since the age of eleven become this space that people feel they have a right to comment on, inspect, approve of and yes, even touch. But why is that?

Why do so many people believe they’re the authority on my (and others) body? Because we have taught people through hundreds of years of gender construction that women do not actually own their body. And yet, we live in a society that is fine with sexualizing tits for media or fashion but then shames breastfeeding mothers and large chested women for existing. This is a direct result of institutionalized sexism which has taught men that a woman’s breast are for them and not for biology or even for the beholder-of-the-cha-chas to enjoy. A woman's sexuality is for her husband or her lover, but not for herself or the world to see. And we see that here. But it’s 2016, and it’s time we said, “Gold lamps are just jubblies are just sweater stretchers are just honkers are just melons are just boobs." Nothing more, nothing less. We must work towards establishing a fine line of behavior when discussing someone’s anatomy, and we must acknowledge that the Ying Yang Twins are not to be discussed by anyone besides their owner.