Years ago, I bought a tank top. It was before I really knew how...ample my bosoms would eventually become, I think I was about 14 when I bought it. It was the first article of clothing that I bought. Not that I picked out by myself, the first one that I bought with my own money while shopping by myself. In a much larger way than I'd care to admit, it represented my burgeoning freedom and independence. I hold no delusions about my teen years, they were crap (not the total crap that other people I know went through, but they were not fun and I wouldn't relive them for all the gold in the world), but there are a few things that make me deeply nostalgic about my youth. This top is one of them.
When I tried it on, I knew my parents wouldn't like it, and that's what I liked about it. Yes, it looked decent on me, and I liked the material and the pattern, but it was just revealing enough to make my parents noticeably uncomfortable with it. My mom was convinced that I had bought it just because it was "fashionable", but it was more than that. I had picked it out, I had chosen it. It was mine in a way that very few things had ever truly been mine before that.
Later in high school, my sister hit a phase where she was jealous of how well I was filling out my shirts, and teased me relentlessly for being "too big". I don't remember exactly when, but during this phase she dubbed the tank top "The Boob Shirt," and the name stuck.
It's one of the most comfortable pieces of clothing that I have ever owned, and I still have it (though I've long since stopped wearing it in public because it just doesn't look flattering on me anymore). This year I'm finally going to have to retire it. The threads in the seams are all falling apart, and it's been washed so many times that the pattern is barely visible anymore. It pains me a little to just toss out something that I look at with such rosy glasses, but I really should toss it.
Maybe I'll give it another year.
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