Tuesday, April 22, 2008
Boobs.
To quote one of my favourite Tenacious D lyrics: "this one's for the ladies - but fellas, listen closely."
Breasts. Boobs. Tits. Whatever you want to call them, they're great. And whatever your personal relationship with these most fascinating female organs, you can't deny their impact on your life. I like to think of them as the givers of life - they attract the guy in the first place, and once the process of procreation is done and you've got a littlun, you've got two built-in one-stop snack shops right there. Yep, they're assets, alright.
For us girls, our boobs are often the source of much insecurity. Too big, too small, too perky, too flat... I know that we, as women, have a lot to say about our personal appearance in general, but we all seem to have a special reservation about our blessings (or curses, perhaps?). Sure, guys love boobs whatever the weather, but then they don't have to live with them attached to their chests 24/7, do they?
Now, I have a love-hate relationship with my own particular set. See, an awkward shape runs through our family that causes us no end of problems. We have quite ample blessings, but very narrow backs, so that we end up in a bra size with a small band but an astronomical cup size. Underwear shopping is a total bitch.
In fact, the reason I'm writing this post in the first place is because of the somewhat traumatic shopping experience I suffered on Monday. Now, I was fully aware that I was among the majority of women that wear the wrong bra size - statistics vary from anywhere between 70% and 95% of the population - but I hadn't been properly measured in a long while. I'd been fairly comfortable in a 36DD, with only the occasional case of what I like to call "hamburger tit" (call it overspill, call it what you want, but it ain't pretty, so "hamburger tit" it remains in my head). But I figured it was about time to get my girls some proper support - as a confidence and comfort booster, if nothing else.
(This is a great tit. It's still smaller than my pair.)
I went to Marks and Spencers, probably the best place a girl can get a bra fitting these days. I had a lovely measuring lady who brought me bra after bra, all of them gorgeous and exactly to my taste... but what I did notice was that the cup size was going up and up, whilst the band size was going down and down...
Friends, in the space of ten minutes I went from a 36DD to a 32G. Yes, that's G for Gigantic, Gargantuan, Good-Golly-Miss-Molly-Them's-Big-Boobs. I wasn't prepared for exactly how wrong I'd been.
Luckily I now have some gorgeous underwear in lemons and pinks - I've been in all-black underwear since high school, so it was time for a change - and my boobs are perkier and cosier than they've been in years and years. It's weird that I have such a massive cup size, but can still fit into size 12 clothes. My narrow back has a lot to answer for.
That said, I've always been fully aware of the big problems big boobses can cause - physically and emotionally. Never mind that breasts this size often cause back problems and can wreck a girl's posture. No, there's worse than that. There's dirty old men who stare into our cleavages as though the meaning of life's hidden there, before trying to begin a conversation with them, mostly about how big they are and how they'd like to fuck the unfortunate sap that owns them. I cannot tell you how many bars I've stormed out of, and how many nights I've had ruined, by perverts like that.
And it's not as though we get much sympathy from our own. Other lasses with smaller endowments decry their jealousy at much volume, completely unaware of how lucky we consider them. With boobs my size, these other lasses are made up of just about every girl I know. That's a lot of Joey-envy. But I'd give my right arm to trade places with them for a night, to go out wearing whatever the hell I want, without feeling the need to cover up, and not get perved on.
My ma, bless her heart, had had enough. Ten years ago she got a reduction for those exact reasons, and has said ever since she wished she'd had it done ten years earlier. When my own came in with a vengeance, I wondered if I ought to go down the same route. Of course, no guy I've ever been with has complained, but I did broach this subject with a certain ex a long time ago. I told him I was sick of being stared at by guys. His response? "Other girls would say 'at least you get stared at'." I was angry at him for that. True as that might be, it's hard to understand the problems unless you're living with them every moment of every day.
I'm feeling a lot more comfortable with my little handfuls these days than I have in a while, especially now that they're being supported by such pretty giftwrap. When the gallies get jealous, I list all the reasons why they don't want boobs this big - the back pain, the dirty old men, the scarcity of such awkward sizes on the high street and the expensive price tags on the ones you do find. I've also come to realise that the dirty bastards that judge a girl solely on the size of her chest probably all have tiny peckers, so I tend to laugh in their faces instead of running out of bars these days. I've turned it into a game in my head - if I can get to know a guy and like him without him drawing attention to my breasts at all, he's one step closer to unwrapping the prize. But it's a long and stringent process... I'm still single, after all. Not all well-endowed girls are sluts, contrary to what lads' mags would have you believe. If anything, I'm more choosy because of them.
Labels: Deep and Meaningful
I understand.
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