Eggplant Breasts....really y'all??
Facebook has figured out my metric. And, boy does it suck—especially as it frequently shines a super bright light on all of my neuroses about carrying extra weight.
For a while there, I straight up could not figure out where these pounds were coming from. I am a moderate omnivore. I cook pretty much everything from scratch. I know how to count calories, macros, etc. I move my body regularly. The doctors literally shrugged at me—three different ones—because my blood work is SO HEALTHY. I tried everything and the weight just stayed on. Seriously, y’all, I was breathing and getting fat.
So I started researching. I looked at every diet plan, nutrition video, hormone, metabolic, yada yada that there was to be found. And boy howdy are there a lot. I clicked on anything that started with “How to lose weight over 40...” and followed them all to the point of madness. What I learned is that they are all variations on a theme that I had tried over and over already. And they still weren’t working. So in order to save my sanity, I gave up. I’m trying to embrace Fat and Forty; Its a journey.
Anyway. Facebook has picked up on the mania and is constantly showing me ads based on this. Even after I do the “don’t show me these” thing. They just turn up in varying degrees of offensiveness. The new one is a super fun bra ad that flashes different “breast shapes” using images of fruit. There isn’t an emoji made that can adequately describe the face I make when it turns up. There they go, just flashing along, fruit after fruit after fruit… I mean, you can’t help but to look to see what you get, right?
Funny thing is, of all the things that bug me about this body I am wearing, its the boobs that make me the most nuts. They are just huge. They get into everything. And they go everywhere. They are unruly, misbehaved boobies that refuse to be tamed by any bra. (Don’t even GET me started on the bra situation. Who makes these things and do they even have boobs?) Some women miss the waistline, or complain about their ass, me, I can handle that. Its the tits, y’all. Just…..Jesus.
So here goes this ad, merrily flipping through its fruits and all the different types of boobs that there can possibly be. And for real, who knew? But one thing that did know what that I was no longer an apple, or an orange, and I have never been a melon. I had no clue you could be a pomegranate. Imagine my dismay to learn that I was an eggplant. An eggplant. Of all the…..
First off, while eggplant is indeed technically a fruit (or a berry), it is one of those dodgy bastards that prefers to hang out in the vegetable family. Plus its bitter if you don’t soak it in saltwater, and I’m not sure I appreciate the implication that I have bitter breasts. I’m sure they have had their disappointments, but I wouldn’t classify them as bitter. For continuity sake, I feel that perhaps papaya or guava would have been a smarter advertising choice. But I digress…
Not that this was at all their intention, but I find the image of the “relaxed eggplant” so insulting. Like, somehow my boobs have just given up the effort of hanging out high on my chest and have decided to live out their lazy days on my rib cage. Believe me, it wasn’t a choice of relaxing there. It was the steady march of time and children and just plain old, every day use. They should call it what it is. These boobs here are tired. They aren’t relaxed, they are beat the fuck down and just need a minute to catch their breath. And furthermore, half the dang problem is that they spent their days confined in contraptions that kept telling them to do things and be places that they simply weren’t designed to do or be. So maybe my breasts are more accurately sick and tired of all this breast image bullshit.
Which, I suppose, makes them right in line with being over forty. Moussaka, anyone?