What's Wrong With Your Armpits?

Photo courtesy of Dr. Brian Glatt

When I was younger and had the chance to walk around half undressed as only the young can do, strangers would often come up to me, with face screwed in a knot of fright, point and ask: What's wrong with your armpits?

I stare at other women's breasts, constantly on the lookout, seeing where mine stand in this self inflicted imaginary lineup of perfection. I used to notice cleavages a lot because I didn't seem to have one. I have one now because I figured out: It's all in the bra, baby.

I also notice women who have no need for a bra, and if I tell you the truth here, right now, I harbour great big green, smoldering stinking envy for these women. I hate them. I've been shackled in a bra since the age of 6 months and women who can traipse around braless just get on my nerves. I inherited my grandmothers breasts, and if you ask me on what side that grandmother was, I will say: It doesn't matter because on both sides each grandmother had huge breasts which only makes me wonder if I got a double whammy of sorts. I guess it could have been worse. I could have developed four individual breasts. My mother however, is two raisins on an ironing board, and she goes braless at times which means this bra shit skipped a generation and landed on me.

What also landed on me is something referred to as,- which is completely harmless-, Axillary Breast Tissue.

So when someone points out my armpits I know that, unlike me who looks at breasts, there are others in this world who wander around looking at armpits. The only time I notice armpits is in film when a woman stretches an arm over her heard exposing her armpit, and then is when I notice that there is a little hollow there which I don't have. That hollow does look inviting and I do wonder if men see that hollow and shriek: Eureka! But most of the time I never give it a second thought. And no man that I have ever been with has seen my armpits and suddenly declared: I have to go now.

I know some people assume that this tissue is because I have extra weight. It followed me throughout eating disorders; it has noting to do with weight and it was there when I donned my first bra at age 6 months. I know that I can have it surgically removed but the idea of taking that kind of risk, to be put under, for cosmetic reasons is not a part of my constitution. I want to go to my grave with as many pieces intact. The only reason I would change my armpits is if I found myself being circled by mobs, jabbing lit torches my way, and chanting: Get her! The pits must go!

I like my armpits. They've been with me my whole life. What would I do without them? They bother other people, not me, and I really don't mind when people ask me about them because it gives me a chance to inform others about the various armpits thriving in this world; it's an educational moment. In my silliest of moments I think of having business cards made up with a picture of my armpits on one side and contact info on the other.

I like people how they come and I am most fortunate to believe that people like me as I come too.

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