One of the regulars at Zumba pulled me aside yesterday.
"What's your name?" she asked, which was friendly, so I told her.
"You seem nice," she said. "So don't take this the wrong way."
It never goes well when someone says this.
"I've heard other people talking about you," she continued. "About your breasts."
Why yes, my breasts are nice. I like them quite a lot, actually.
"They move a lot," she said. "And I understand because I have large breasts too."
Oh my goodness. It is like I exercise at exercise class, and my breasts obey the laws of fluid dynamics!
"So you need to wear two bras," she finished blithely. "Not just one. You're really all over the place."
She stopped then, waiting for a response.
"Understood," I said curtly, because I did understand. I understood that I was not conforming, that I was being judged for having the wrong body. I understood that the "other people" believed that their right to not be confronted with my breasts, clad in only a single sports bra and a tank top, superseded my right to exercise in only one bra and a tank top.
I don't buy it. My breasts are part of my body, and I am not ashamed of them. They move when I exercise because I exercise for me, not for society's approval. I'm sorry that they're offended, and I'm sorry that they can't see that mine is another body that is a good body to have.
It's not the first time someone has complained about my breasts. Perhaps I should buy or make a witty t-shirt about it, as it appears that I am doomed to offend people with my unacceptable breasts.
And I don't even have a child to breastfeed.