I have had boobies since the fourth grade. I remember very vividly the boys teasing me because they thought I stuffed. It wasn’t until high school that I began to think of these developments as a blessing, and in college, well, I knew they were. As I have gained over the years, a great deal of the weight has hit my chest. I am the proud wearer of much cleavage. I had a woman complain about it at my old job, to which my best friend replied, “You’d have cleavage in a turtleneck.”
This is true, and my identity has always in some way been tied to my cleavage. I don’t wear t-shirts usually because then I just end up looking like a large egg, the boobs take over. They have been marveled at in many venues as I am sure all busty girls understand. I have seen eyes get big at their arrival, notice I didn’t say my arrival. My boobs arrive first. My breasts literally get a reaction all on their own.
I have always sort of been in a big booby euphoria too. I am an attention whore of sorts so the fact people have been drawn to them has been a plus. When I say people I mean women too. I think women talk about my breasts more than men. At a party, people want to touch them: male, female, gay or straight it doesn’t matter. That I can do without, but it always made me feel special to be the busty woman. I mean, at least I got that going for me.
I never understood the women who have had breast reduction surgery. Why would I get rid of the gloriousness that is my chest? The thing is that my body has always been pretty proportional. In high school and college I was an hourglass and really didn’t know what I had. I had a rockin’ body that if I knew what I knew now I would have shown off a lot better. Now, I am an hour glass still but pushing forty and pushing #@$@%$ pounds, the boobs are getting too big. (My friends and family reading this will be surprised I am saying this)
Everyone says when you lose weight the first thing to go is the boobs. Of course these complaints are told to me as a backwards way of bragging. Oh no, I lost all this weight, but first in my boobs. I don’t mean to sound bitter, but sometimes I am when people are bragging about it. I have heard this from no less than twenty people in my life, you lose first from the boobs.
For me that is not true. I have not lost an ounce in that department. I was finally looking forward to it. I am tired of paying so much money for bras. I have to special order, because the ones at Lane Bryant are too tight. I spill over in a very uncomfortable way.
Sleeping with gigantic boobs is not comfortable. Husband gets upset that I move so much trying to get “adjusted.” Then there are those times when you wake up aching because you’ve rolled over on them in the middle of the night, and that’s with a sports bra on. Yeah, these babies only get fresh air if I am in the bath, or in the mood. Even so, I am sadly proud that they still point forward…barely.
I have day dreams of going into Victoria’s Secret and buying a delicately cute pink and black lace bra to elegantly display my smaller breasts. I also imagine bedtime where they don’t cause problems because I don’t have to maneuver them around to get comfortable. Then there are the nightmares I have that I will lose the weight and then they will look like two deflated balloons, lying down to my belly. At night I will swing them over my shoulders for comfort.
I hope that doesn’t happen because this is a place I NEED to lose weight for my health and my sanity. Sadly the era of the bust is over. This woman wants to get her some smaller cleavage.