I posted a status on Facebook that I was making titty soup for a friend. People were curious. What in the hell is titty soup?
To tell you that story, we have to go back in time a little bit to when I was 14 and Nick Johnson, who was both unattractive and a total bastard, pranced up to my desk, lifted his Hypercolor shirt to his chin, and said “I have bigger boobs than you!” He ran back to his group of snickering friends, and I silently cried on the inside, both because he was sort of right, and also because why were his nipples such a freakish shade of purple? Were they not getting enough oxygen? Was this a medical emergency?
Fast forward to when I turned 17, and for the first time in my life had some sort of vague rack-like situation going on underneath my shirt. I was a very late bloomer, and weirdly tall, and captain of the debate team. In general, things were not stacked in my immediate favor. I had a boyfriend at the time who was Mr. Bodybuilder himself, and kind of an ass, because that was how I liked them. We were watching that sitcom where the middle aged guy talks to a puppet in his basement while he drinks. “Unhappily Ever After” was the title, according to Google. And one of the characters was played by actress Nikki Cox. Her boobs are the size of that new planet they just discovered. My boyfriend took one look at her obscene endowments and said, and I quote, “Whoa.” I cried.
February 11, 2000, when I was just 18 years old and living in the dorms at CSU, I got my own set of Whoa. A few years later, I got rid of the boyfriend too, which was fortuitous because he got really fat (for a firefighter) shortly after we broke up. And obviously what’s the point of dating a firefighter if they don’t look like Ryan Reynolds naked? Oh…that they’re saving people and are nice to kids and care about helping their fellow man? Pshh. I was 21 and wanted to see abs.
For many years, I was the only person I knew who had gone after-market on the boobs. They weren’t huge, they were very well done, and I could just stop thinking about them all together. That was a huge blessing after spending so much time thinking about them and hating them for the last, oh, four years (thanks, 9th grade boys).
Also, when I turned 21, I’m pretty sure they paid for a lot of my drinks.
And they went on to painfully feed a beautiful baby boy without complications, save for the fact that he wouldn’t stop trying to rip my knicknacks off with his crazy baby gums.
These days, it seems more and more people are hopping on the breast-wagon. I’m always supportive, provided it’s to satisfy yourself and not because you are needy/crazy/feel unlovable.
Then, last year, someone very close to me went through an ordeal where she lost both of her ta-tas to cancer. She got to keep her life. Fair trade. As a consolation prize, the doctors gave her new boobies.
After I brought her home from the hospital and dosed her (and maybe myself) with good drugs, I made her titty soup.
Titty soup is just chicken soup, but made with extra love. I roast whole, organic chickens, turn them into stock with fresh vegetables and herbs, and then dice up the chicken into the broth with more fresh vegetables, noodles, rice, and seasonings. There’s not much to it. But it feels good to support people in a way that I didn’t feel supported when I went through the same thing as a kid. I ate dorm food and skipped classes for two weeks.
So if you ever look down at your nellies and think, “f*ck this noise, I hate them, I’m fixing them.” Well, call me and I’ll make you some soup. And if you ever look down at them and think “you know what? I’m fine with these. I love them and don’t want to change them.” I’ll make you soup too, just because you’re obviously a genius of self-esteem and you deserve it.
Solidarity girls. Solidarity. Nobody gets to judge you because you make a decision about your own body, regardless of what that decision is. And you get to hold your head high and your jugs higher because they’re yours.
Kristie Webber is a stay-at-home Air Force wife and mom who writes sarcastic commentary and swear words about food, fitness, and babies at The Spiteful Chef. She feels qualified to do so because she’s a Culinary Institute of America trained chef, an ACE certified personal trainer, and the mother of a wildly impulsive 15 month old boy. She doesn’t write about cleaning her house, because she totally sucks at that. She enjoys eating cake, drinking wine, and being a giant nerd. She does NOT enjoy running marathons, but does it anyway to facilitate the additional consumption of cake.
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{ 11 comments… read them below or add one }
That last paragraph is pure gold.
And seriously? What is it with guys and their ridiculous utterances hijacking the steering wheel of our self esteem?
My bestie is getting a breast reduction as soon as she is done nursing her babe. I will be all over this!
It is always helpful to have delicious, healthy food, no matter what you are healing from.
Hope your friend is doing well!
I think it’s harder to man your own steering wheel of self esteem when you’re 14. I like to think that if somebody said that to me now, I’d punch them in the junk. But who knows?
Agreed. I let people get away with saying things to me when I was 14 that I would junk punch them for now. Or at least, I’d have a witty, scathing comeback :)
This *almost* made me cry.
Agreed on the self-esteem, but I have three daughters who can’t skip age 14. White. Knuckles.
I laughed at this because I was a very late bloomer too and was teased all through high school for being the carpenter’s dream, for having mosquito bite boobs and for needing band aids instead of a bra. And then I had five kids. Aaaand now I wear a 36 D. Eat your frickin heart out stupid high school guys. I love me my ta-ta’s now. They’re actually one of my favourite features. I love your idea of titty soup.
I was the opposite, I had rather big boobs for a 12 year old, and they have continued to get bigger and bigger. I tried to hide them for many years, through middle school and most of high school. But it really helped that I went to an all girls high school, and there were no boys to stare and point and make fun of me. After college I had a great friend who was also well endowed and one day she gave me a really cute shirt, with a vneck, because she said I had to learn to love what God gave me and dress more flattering to my figure than the crew neck tees I wore. I put the shirt on and looked in the mirror and realized that these huge things that I was hiding were pretty damn hot! And that was the beginning of me learning to accept my body and my curves and to experiment with clothes that I never thought I could wear. Its 10 years later and I still have that shirt and I still look damn hot in it!
The opposite was just as tragic to deal with. Big boobied girls and 14 year old boys don’t go well together. I’m sure you can imagine. I had a breast reduction. Best decision I ever made. I’m with you. Bigger, smaller, or happy where you are, no one should try to steal happiness.
Heya,
Liked the article and I love Curvy Girl in general about the diversity of shapes and sizes and the comments/emotions we feel about our own bodies. I felt sad however when reading this
“A few years later, I got rid of the boyfriend too, which was fortuitous because he got really fat (for a firefighter) shortly after we broke up.”
I think we can agree that body shaming comments about others have no place in a Curvy Girl conversation.
I do not mean to offend and I blog so I know how tough it can be… but I really feel comments like this are very damaging and have no place in a website like this. We see this everywhere else… please. not here.
Jenna– just wanted to clarify that the point that paragraph was trying to make was that I was superficial at age 21. Not to condone it; just to point it out. I am guilty, though, as a former “fat girl” of using terms like “fatty, beefalo” etc because it was okay to joke about myself when I was heavy. Self-deprecating humor is sometimes a good band-aid for wounds. But now that I’ve lost weight, I catch myself and realize that my traditional banter isn’t perceived as funny anymore, but as judgmental. It’s something I’m working on and struggling with.