A year ago it was the color of our bras. This years it’s where we put our purse when we get home. This yearly facebook virus started by someone claiming it will raise breast cancer awareness is little more than a way to snicker about sexual acts.
I have to wonder how this is supposed to raise awareness. It does direct our attention to the 1 in 3 women who will have breast cancer in their lifetime. It doesn’t share stories of losing the women we love, maiming our own bodies in order to save ourselves, or the hopeful stories of surviving.
It doesn’t share the things that might save us, estrogen, soy, breast feeding, exercise, taking care of our bodies, and early detection.
There’s no money donated, no support for those who have it. No pink ribbon, no getting together and raising our voices to beg for more funding for research. There’s no protesting that big machine that painfully squashes our breasts when there much be an easier way.
Instead, we read about how women are doing it in the car, on the floor, on the kitchen counter. Women are snickering at each other. Men are intrigued for about a second, and then realize we are all just a bunch of giggly teenagers flaunting our new curves at them. Every status begs for a vision of sexual acts in different places.
We have made sexual objects of our selves once again.
I am truly disappointed in my gender.