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Wednesday, June 15, 2011

My CUPS Runneth Over: A Memoir

I remember it like it was yesterday.  Crying in the department store dressing room.  I was 14 and had no boobs.  None. No boob-lets, nothing!  My mother likes to remind me of this when I am complaining now. I resembled Olive Oyl.  Flat-chested with big feet & a huge nose.  It was depressing.  I was a late bloomer.  Really late.  Then God decided to play a bit of a trick on me.  The next summer, there they were.  Boobs!  Suddenly I had them, along with a number of awkward, teenage boys who were unusually friendly.  It is amazing what having a rack can do to your popularity at that age. I finally had what I wanted...and I HATED it!

Having a large chest is not all it is cracked up to be.  In college, I had to wrap an Ace bandage around my chest in order to play sports.  I'm not kidding.  I also have never had actual eye contact during a conversation.  People, to this day, talk into my chest like it's some sort of make-shift PA system.  Check 1..2?? Look up you idiot!  I also longed to wear cute tank tops, halters & strapless dresses.  It was not to be.  The support apparatus that needed to be in place for these items rivaled a crane trying to hoist a piano up to a 5th story window.  Are you getting the visual?  Pretty hot, huh?

I would see Victoria Secret ads.  They have pretty, sexy bras.  Unfortunately, they do not come in "my" size.  I got to go to a little place they call "Lady Grace."  This place sold bras that looked like turn-of-the century torture devices.  The average age in there was 86.  To get the support I needed meant wearing a bra that came down to my belly-button with a padlock on the back.  ( it looked like my father could have designed this thing, and he was probably happy about it.)  This, my friends, is depressing.  No lace, no front-closure, no black.  They were white, polyester, ugly & once again, I was crying in the dressing room.

The problem at a younger age is you never "embrace" your shape.  You try to cover it up.  (Of course, this does not apply to Snooki)  I never felt comfortable in own skin.  This is not including the wet t-shirt contest I entered in Cancun on spring break.  Tequila was involved and that essentially doesn't count.  Friends would say "you are so lucky" and "I wish I had those."  No, you really don't. If they were fake, then maybe they would be fun, stand at attention & not disappear into my armpits when I lay down.

After 25, some-odd years my once perky buds have changed.  After 2 kids, nursing & that damn gravitational pull, my girls are looking a bit tired.  Deflated, if you will.  Thank god for the push-up bra.  I have become a master at the tuck & shove technique.  You stacked girls out there know what I'm talking about here.  The art of jamming your boobs into the bra.  My nipple is sometimes sticking out the back.  But damn it, I'm wearing this killer lace bra.  I am often aware of the uni-boob situation as well.  There should appear to be two of them.  Strapless bras are out for me.  Boo!

In this day of the breast augmentation & lift I have no shot of comparing to those works of art.  I understand that men have several opinions about "enhanced" boobs.  Some love 'em & some hate 'em.  (I think I love em.)  Mine are real.  There is no denying this, especially when the bra comes off.  (Is it bad when you can kick your nipple with your thigh?)  Really, it is not that bad, but I have that awful visual of them in another 25 years.  Here it is. The lady on the right...yep.

I have finally made peace with my lady pieces.  The girls, sweater-puppies, funbags or whatever they have been called are here to stay. ( Maybe just not in the same place)  I guess I was blessed..at least I have heard that throughout my life. I'd like to thank my mother for this gift.  Nice work, mom! 

1 comment:

  1. OMG, I'm rolling! You have such a great way with words. Can't wait to read more!


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