I hate you and your ptosisface!

It's funny. A week, maybe two ago, there was an article about ptosis of the breasts in the oh-so-misogynistic "women's section" of one of the newspapers here (I can't remember whether it was El Nuevo Diario or La Prensa, so I'm having a hard time finding it, but if I do, it'll be posted, never fear).

It was kind of confusing. You see, I was under the impression that women's breasts sagged naturally with age, and that was, you know, natural. Apparently I've got it all wrong. It's a DISEASE, and we must take DRASTIC MEASURES to prevent its life-threatening consequences, such as, um...un-perky breasts, and...non-perky breasts.

Yeah, so, you should have invasive breast surgery before anything like THAT happens! I mean, "saggy" breasts are a health hazard, folks. Yep.

In the article, it mentioned the usual medieval delights, like breast lifts and breast reduction with implants, but recently, I became aware of another charming procedure to treat this "condition". It's literally, a bra inside your chest.

The mind boggles. Hoyden About Town does a better job of dissecting it than I do. But basically, FUUUUUUUUUCK!?!?@>@>!>$

Ok, breasts will sag. There is nothing wrong with that. In fact, that is what they are supposed to do. Also, the immense majority of breasts are NOT, even when their owners are young; globular and gravity-defying, though I'm sure all the lad's mags and the plastic surgery industry would have us believe otherwise.

I am so, so sick of being told that my body is abnormal. You'd think my breasts had committed terrible crimes against mankind for the kind of comments I get about them; from the "WOW, are they real?!" to the snarky "oh, but it was a joke" to the ones that spend hours trying to tell me how much better I'd look after a reduction, to the ones that can't seem to let five minutes go by without commenting on their size.

Yeah, sorry, but no.

Fuck this shit. I don't need a reduction. I don't want a reduction. And I sure as hell ain't getting one to make everyone else more comfortable around me and my EVIL EVIL CHEST. Which by the way, I plan to keep intact even when it's struck down by the terrible affliction of ZOMG PTOSIS. Because as much as I can go on about mind over matter, my body has everything to do with myself, if one can say that without sounding lightly ridiculous. And this is how I look. And it's not a disease. It doesn't need surgery.

There is nothing wrong with my body.

I'm not changing it.

Deal with it.