Growing up, it seems like kids are tagged with labels that point out physical attributes, mental capacity, or some identifying factor that sticks for l.i.f.e. Any time I run in to folks I knew in elementary school and we catch up on each other's families, they don't remember names, but ask "How's the one that was so bossy?"
Big sis K is the Bossy One. She was cast in this role as soon as she acquired a little sis to boss around. She excels at her job and loves to tell people what to do.
Brother A. is the Smart One. He's the guy that took the MENSA test on a lark but wandered out before finishing the test because the answers were "too easy."
Sis S. is the Cute One. She is adorable inside and out. She's so cute that....well, when she was 36 her daughter was a senior in high school. Cute One saw that her daughter had left lunch at home so she ran it to the school. The principal saw Cute One in the school hallway and chided her, "young lady, shouldn't you be in class?" Read the numbers. Thirty-six. All natural. No fair.
Me? I'm the one with the boobs. Now, any of the above labels have some kind of almost complimentary ring to them. Who wouldn't want to be at least respected for their authority or smarts, or admired for being so darn cute?
What the hell do you do with boobs?