...You Will Fall Over

If your breasts are too large you will fall over..unless you wear a rucksack.
Important advice from the late great Scots poet Ivor Culter

Back in the days before dirt was invented, yeah, back when I was 15, I had a beau on the gymnastics team. He wasn’t Olympic material, not even close, but he was studly and talented nonetheless.

He wanted me to try out for the team. Silly boy. Though I was trim and fit, I was not what anyone would ever call athletic. Or coordinated. Spazoid, sure. Klutz Queen -- oh yeah absolutely. My silly beau talked me into it though.

There were formal assessments made of the gymnast wannabe’s abilities. I was, astoundingly, doing OK until...until the hand stand test. Just couldn’t do it -- toppled over every single time even when we were permitted to attempt one against a wall versus in the middle of the floor. 

The coach pulled me aside and told me that I’d never, EVER be able to excel in gymnastics because of my physical imbalance -- ‘your breasts are too large.’ First off, I’ve always had sufficient junk in my trunk to serve as ballast for those headlights. Secondly, jesus, I was 15 years old! Thirdly, he was a teacher and coach of us kids and he’s telling me my rack’s too big?

He wasn’t the only teacher to comment on my babylons back then. One day in orchestra practice I blew my solo. I don’t recall the piece now. Nor do I remember the fucktarded orchestra teacher’s name,  crotchety old bastard. In front of the entire orchestra, he berated me and my blunder, saying that it was due to my tits being so big.

 Oh....rilly?!

I was horrendously embarrassed, angry and imagined myself utterly helpless. All I could do was blush nine shades of scarlet and dissolve into a demoralized puddle of confusion.

My folks had long been ignoring and/or fluffing off my complaints about bullies and nasty teachers so I didn’t even consider bringing either incident to their attention. Successful sexual harassment lawsuits were years in the future. And meeting my best buddy Kevin (R.I.P) was still 4 years off. He taught me that, yes I could, should, MUST fight back. He also taught me how. As it turns out, I have a talent for the withering, ridiculing, tart retort.

Not all of my teachers or coaches were pathetic, midget dicked, emotionally stunted, predatory failmasters. I had a few tremendous, inspirational instructors back then. Funnily enough, not in music or art (both of which I went on to study in college and beyond).

Mr. Malacarne (whose name always cracked me right up. do the translation, you’ll snicker too), my geography teacher was one of my inspirations for travel. Miss Hutton, for English -- science fiction, specifically --  opened my brain up to new, different levels of creative expression.

What brings this to mind now? That post about shoes. Tall shoes and my good balance all those years ago. My leaps on the balance beam would cause gazelles to weep in envy.

NO, honest and for reals!

If Your Breasts Are Too Large You Will Fall Over by Ivor Cutler