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" From the day they popped on the scene in the fourth grade, my breasts have been fodder for commentary. Everywhere I go, friends and strangers discuss them freely, as if they were a clever fashion accessory I picked up at Barneys, and not a part of my body. Women tell me how lucky I am \u2014 how they&amp;#039;ve always wondered what it&amp;#039;s like to have big breasts. I tell them to be thankful they don&amp;#039;t know. When you have an E cup there is no &amp;#039;up&amp;#039; in their keep. They&amp;#039;re heavy and you&amp;#039;re always one wrong support garment away from being a National Geographic pictorial. To this they unanimously respond with, &amp;quot;Oh, but guys must love them.&amp;quot; And, yeah... they do. Men stare and then stare some more. On a flight to Madrid I got up to stretch my legs when an adorable old gentleman came shuffling up the aisle. He paused in front of me, took a good long look at my rack, and announced, &amp;quot;Ostia! Spain could win the World Cup with that pair!&amp;quot; This enthusiasm isn&amp;#039;t limited to straight men. All my gay guy friends try to touch my breasts. I&amp;#039;m constantly slapping their hands away with a warning, &amp;quot;If you wake the girls up, you&amp;#039;re going to have to follow through with a serious play date \u2014 so stop it.&amp;quot; It&amp;#039;s a fascination that was lost on me until I figured out breasts are a symbol of nourishment. I suppose there is something comforting about them.  But mostly they&amp;#039;re a pain. A stylist, dressing me for an event, once grabbed my bra straps and sighed, &amp;quot;I have no idea what to do with these!&amp;quot; And neither did I. I still don&amp;#039;t know what to do with the back pain, the draconian undergarments, and the running commentary. Reduction surgery seemed to be my only choice. Eager for picture-perfect breasts, I dove into researching my medical options \u2014 but, much to my surprise, an argument for keeping them started to build in my mind. I like that my breasts balance out my bodacious Cuban bottom, giving me the hourglass shape I&amp;#039;m rather happy with. Yes, I&amp;#039;ve had to wear a bra since nine, but now, I&amp;#039;d feel naked without one. Plus, in order to keep them perky I&amp;#039;d need to get implants and it would drive me up the wall to have something manufactured under my skin. I end up returning almost every purchase I&amp;#039;ve initially been on the fence with, and these could just get expensive. Ultimately all I want is to own my breasts. I want to be comfortable with how they look and feel regardless of what anybody else says because I&amp;#039;m thankful they&amp;#039;re natural and healthy. Is having someone else cut them the only way for me to claim them? I&amp;#039;m not sure. But for now, I&amp;#039;m going to switch to V-necks and rock on with my natural gifts \u2014 if for no other reason than they are mine. Carmen Pelaez is a playwright whose works include Rum &amp;amp;amp; Coke and Mariposas. "^^<http://www.w3.org/2001/XMLSchema#string>
<http://www.marieclaire.com/health-fitness/news/a5210/what-its-like-to-have-big-breasts/?click=rel>