The Women in My Family Are Comfortable With Touching

This is something I've discovered when comparing my immediate family with others. Everyone has boundaries to some extent, with the only difference being in size and application.

For the most part, we have no issue touching other people in social settings. Just met you? No problem, we'll be back-patting, arm squeezing and shoulder-punching you like we were lifelong friends quicker than you can say "bad touch".

Like the time my mom chest-patted my high school boyfriend Parrot Boy (so named for his blue hair, prominent nose, and various pierced body parts. What? I fancied myself a rebel youth). He looked so startled we both laughed about it later on when my mom apologized to me for doing it. Hilarious, because despite Parrot Boy's best efforts to be angst-y and scary, very little deters the women in my family from being touchy-feely.

This sometimes creates problems, like when you marry someone who isn't touchy-feely. Or someone who avoids unnecessary tactile contact like the plague, as the Big B does. I try to be good about not touching him too much, but every once in awhile I can't hold it back any more and I go into "leech mode", whereupon I latch onto him like he's the last floating piece of debris in the ocean after a shipwreck and squeeze with all my might. If he struggles, I've been known to wrap a leg around his hip and be dragged around the house until I've had my fill of hugging.

Coupled with this, I was raised to be comfortable in my own skin and to have no problems discussing bodies and natural functions.

So it was no surprise when my mom, sister and I found ourselves in a compromising situation on a road trip to see Dave Matthews Band one summer.

As a present for my mom, we bought tickets to one of her favorite musical artists and decided to make a girl's trip out of it since the concert was in Wisconsin. We loaded up in the car, booked a hotel room at the Rainbow Inn (eh? eh!) and proceeded to drive across Wisconsin.

We pulled off at a trucker stop/gas station/middle-of-nowhere place to stretch our legs and walk around a bit midway through our drive. We parked in a non-busy part of the large lot and somehow, the conversation turned to our breasts and went something like this:

Me: Your girls look HUGE! (staring at my sister)
Sister: What? Yours are just as big!
Mom: (laughing) 
Me: Yours are way bigger! Mom's don't look exactly small, either.
Sister: I think Mom's are bigger.
Mom: (Surprised) Really? I think Sarah's are the biggest.
Me: No way. (Feeling my breasts and looking at the others) Yours are definitely the largest.
Sister: C'mon! We're all pretty similar in size, I think. (Feeling herself up at this point)
Mom: (Feels her own and reaches out to feel ours) I think she's right, Sarah.
Me: (Reaching out to feel my mom's, then my sister's, then my own again) I think you both are crazy!
Mom & Sister: (Feels their own and then everyone else's)

Meanwhile, I happened to look around and realize we had an audience...

Me: *hissing* Omigod don't look now, but I think we just gave that trucker over there something to put in the spank bank...
Sister & Mom: Ewwwww! (All breast fondling stops and we start giggling)
*Disclaimer

And with that, we decided we'd stretched our legs enough and hopped back in the car and speedily made our exit from the scene of our unintentional lewdness.

In honor of that trip, I made us take this photo together on my wedding day.

We're crazy, and neither of them could refuse me on that day.

HA!


*This conversation is not accurate as far as who started touching who first, what exactly was said, or who even brought up the subject of breast size, although I have a strong suspicion it was me. But it is accurate as far as the tone and such. Plus there really was a trucker leaning on his vehicle watching us.