A Tale of Two Boobs
Ever since the seventh grade, I had boobs. Not just little “first bra” worthy boobs, I had somehow skipped that step entirely. No, when I was twelve years old I had a hefty C-cup and then a month later (I kid you not, a month later) I was a DD.
God decided to pick on me, or as some men might think, bless me with the curse of big boobs. It’s a thing that has been passed down through generations, my mom’s mom having been a size G and no, I have no idea what that even looks like it, but it must have been simply awful. So this was just a gift that I had to deal with. And deal with it I have, since I may or may not have plastic surgeons in San Francisco bookmarked on my computer. I definitely have a love-hate or more like a hate-hate relationship with my two girls. Most of the time, I hate them. To all you smaller-sized girls, trust me. You do not, under any circumstances unless they are filled with helium, want these things. They are heavy, they slink between your armpits while sleeping sans bra, every button-up shirt you own will now be your worst nightmare and finally, you cannot see your own toes. However, other times, they can make me happy. For example, they look great in this maxi dress or a lower-cut shirt, tank tops as well, and more.
Since I am being forced to deal with these lumps that naturally have to jiggle when I drive over railroad tracks, I want to do something nice with them. Now here I am looking at my new, large-breasted friends. Come on ladies, you know what I’m talking about when I say that nude isn’t flattering. I’m talking about the color nude because that is the only option for me and my twins.
Cue the main anecdote from today. I went shopping with my mom with my dad’s money and we went to two different bra stores. One Victoria’s Secret and the other Soma Intimates. First of all, I want to say that I am a sexy, fierce woman (my roommates can vouch for that since I frequent their bedrooms in just my underwear for advice) and to be frank I hate my body to some extent like every woman, but then I also love my body to an extent that a lot of women do not—so I’m at that happy medium between “I just don’t give a fuck” and “wow I really do give a fuck about my thighs.” Regardless, the point is that I want a bra that is hot. As my mother (another endowed woman) and I enter the slinky, stereotypical lingerie store Victoria’s Secret, we are approached by the salesclerk and I tell her what I’m looking for. She points me to an even nicer, perkier lady to get re-measured. Of course, because why would I already be sure of what bra size I am? I’m pretty sure my bra size and my hair color are the two things I can be sure of. Well, I was wrong, like most times, oh well, and it turns out that my boobs are still growing *gasp.* Hence, being a full cup size and band bigger than what I’m currently wearing. And to all those wondering out there, a triple D is the same as an E. Whatever, it isn’t the first time. I didn’t care, I just wanted cute bras.
Well it turns out that since I am such a large size, I have three different options for bras and big shocker here, they are none of like that bra I showed earlier. Now here is the rant:
What in the fuck. How many people in this nation have had their boobs redone? And the majority of those people certainly didn’t go smaller. I am not saying anything against plastic surgery, that has nothing to do with this, but you have to think that that number has certainly increased (now I’m looking at you Los Angeles) and this means that why on earth are us big-boobed, real or fake, women not allowed cute, sexy bras? Literally, the girl at VS opened one drawer that was full of bras my size and it had white, nude, and black. That was it. I laughed out loud. I have seen this since I was twelve and I am done. I tip my hat to you bras, maybe I’ll be sexier if I don’t wear one.
Just kidding, I need this strange bit of wire and padding. But still! Come on! How hard is it to make that awesome criss-cross back in a 36DDD without that extra padding because god knows my boobs are already in my neck, I don’t need to add anymore cup sizes to these babies. I want to throw off my clothes and wear something that was probably $70, probably difficult to take off, but overall “wow!”-worthy. And all I get is nude. I fucking hate you nude. Why am I not allowed to be sexy just cause I am a bigger girl? Isn’t that what America is becoming now? Victoria’s Secret, those models certainly have to have fake boobs (or it’s just Photoshop. Probably both), and they want to preach about Body Peace and all that crap, but I can’t feel sexy in my own skin when I’m forced to wear cereal bowls over my chest because you don’t make anything beautiful in my size. And Soma Intimates, you guys don’t even specialize in sexy to begin with so why I thought I could find something slinky there at a place with Intimate in the title, whereas Victoria is clearly hiding something sexy, I’ll never know.
So here is my proposition, bra-makers around the world (China?). With the demand for more jiggly-wiggly implants that touch the woman’s chin, then you better be prepared for these women because they will not stand for nude, no they will probably fall over from being top-heavy (I know I do). I will follow suit when You make me something that is $70 and difficult to take on and off, but once it’s on, I don’t want to put a shirt on because my boobs will be nestled so softly and so sexily, that I want the whole world to see. I want cheetah print, I want cool backs and sides, I want colors that are neon that I probably won’t wear cause I like to wear white shirts, but I still want it! I want matching underwear that I won’t match, I want plunge, I want backless, I want glitter and sequins and lace and designs and fabrics and shapes. And either you give it to me, or I will make it myself.
Love, Miss. 36DDD