I don't really think my body is anything to bark at the moon about.
I suppose I am more Kate Zeta J. than I am Kate Moss, what with the miles of curves I have for my hips and thighs and chest. As curvy as I may be, I don't really think my body is eye catching or extraordinary.
Attractive, perhaps (depending on your preferences) - but not stunning.
So I was a bit caught off guard when visiting Mt. Adams' Wine Cellar last Friday.
A woman stopped me in my tracks as I was headed to the restroom with the quick quip, "Hey. Nice tits."
Well, thanks, I replied, wondering why my 38 DD bosoms deserved a remark. Initially surprised that she noticed my, ahem, tits at all only because I was not wearing a low cut top. I had on a great, black scoop neck that cleared well above my cleavage, so her remark especially caught me off guard.
Then I started wondering: was this girl complimenting my non-existent plastic surgeon? Was she appreciating the gift (and believe me, it's not really always a gift) God blessed me with?
Was she hitting on me?
It was a strange remark that left me feeling more confused than appreciated, but it got me thinking.
Very few women, regardless their size, like the breasts they've got. They feel they're either too big, or too small, too droopy, too in-the-way. But somehow we make do and figure out the best way to work one of the biggest symbols of our womanhood.
And so I guess, for at least that one Friday night, I was doing something right - and someone was kind enough to notice.
I only hope next time the compliment comes from a cute, single guy.