CONSIDER YOURSELF BLESSED…
Consider yourself one of the blessed if you can buy a bra in any Wal-mart and it fits!
From the time I was in 6th grade I was not one of those blessed girls who could flip around on the monkey bars without having to worry about getting smacked in the eye with an uncontrollable boob. I could not partake in sports that required running without suffering collateral damage and god forbid some one require me to do jumping jacks! While I drew the eyes of every boy in class because it looked as if I had two trapped and angry animals fighting to get out of my shirt, the reality was I just wanted to be like the other girls with their perfect little perky boobs. I hated the fact that I had to wear a bra everyday just so I could have some measure of control as they always seemed to have a mind of their own. I spent years just trying to hide them from view but that was like trying to hide a pink elephant in the middle of an all white room. It just never worked.
When I got to Junior High, things started to change. Not only were the other girls filling out a bit more so I wasn’t such an oddball, but I was beginning to understand the power in having these mountains. While I was still seeing things with the eyes of a kid, it was not escaping my attention that my male teachers seemed to be more willing to give a better grade or extra help the tighter my shirt was. However there was the backlash from my female teachers who for some reason always assigned me a seat in the back of the room.
It was in High School that I really started to pay attention to the “attention” my boobs were getting. They were like giant bumper pads and I found that most boys had difficulty walking without tipping over whenever I was around. I kind of felt like those bumper you have in a pinball game that keep the ball in play. I just didn’t get what all the excitement was about.
The few girlfriends I had all had normal sized chests. The kind where you can go into any Wal-mart and buy one of the cute bra’s straight from the rack. Me, I had to wear the industrial strength ones you can only get from someone named Olga out of a catalogue. The were not designed to “lift and separate” they were designed to “hold and control” and forget “cute” they looked more like a russian version of a straight jacket for midgets! My mom tried to help by washing them with a red shirt so they were now a faded pink color but still you could not disguise them much. Where the cute bra’s had one or two clasp’s, mine looked like they were designed to hold back a federal prison population, or the door of a single womans apartment in the middle of New York. Two inches of neatly lined up hooks, just incase one broke free. It took 2 minutes of stretching my arms up my back to clasp them all. I tried once to clasp it from the front and then just twist it around to the back but that turned out to be a very painful experience when my left boob got caught in the right arm hole and ended up looking like I was trying to push a grapefruit through a donut hole.
It wasn’t until I was in my twenty’s that the light went on and I realized that having 32 DD’s had advantages. I filled out a swim suit in a way none of my friends could and there was the added advantage of never needing a pool float, as these natural pontoons could keep me afloat for hours. The lower my shirt the more free drinks we got in every bar we went into. I never had to worry about not getting asked to dance either. It didn’t matter if it was a slow song or a fast one…they lined up. I never got a ticket from a cop, but I did get a few phone numbers.
It was about this same time that they started making new bra’s for the well endowed. I could now find lace and ribbons, bow’s and front hooks! Freedom at last. They were even making halter tops with bra’s built-in and I took complete advantage of it all. These beasts became my friends finally and I enjoyed the hell out of it.
Then it happened….I woke up one morning in my 30’s and got out of bed to find that my buddies decided to sleep in. They were no longer pointing the way, instead they were beginning to point out the lint on the floor. From that point on it was a “downhill” battle. Laying on my back now meant that I had one under each arm, looking like I was smuggling beach balls and bending over they resembled two punching bags that were only half inflated. Maybe it had something to do with having 4 kids?
By 40 I was now having to pick them up to put them in my bra. Gravity was not my friend! But on the up side it did make getting out of bed much easier. I would just toss them in the direction I wanted to go and the shear momentum would have me on my feet in seconds! I still tried to harness them in an upright position but now I had them oozing out of the side instead of the top of the bra. Sigh….
Now that I am facing 50, I have just given up. I have accepted the fact that cleaning my bellybutton now can be an “exciting” event and should the urge to flash ever become an issue all I have to do is lift the leg of my shorts! These 32 DD’s have gone from being “Devilishly Delightful” to “Dangling Disaster’s” capable of taking out small children and midgets with one quick turn.
So yes ladies…if you have been blessed with those perky A’s, B’s or even C’s, count your blessings, cause chances are even when gravity takes over you will never have to worry about tripping over them or getting them caught in the steering wheel every time you make a left turn!
Now let me leave you with this great song…thanks to Flowgo for giving us Granny!