Air Bags, Babaloos, Jugs, Bean Bags, Cans, Yams, Mammaries, Puppies, Tits, Boobies, Bosoms, Chesticles, Double Whammies, Boulders, Ear Muffs, Fried Eggs, Bumpers, Fun Bags, Knockers, Lungs, Nips, Orbs, Melons, Rack, Whoppers, Bee Stings…
…Whatever you want to call them – boobs are a big deal. They’re everywhere you look. When you were a babe in arms, they were likely to be one of the first things you ever saw. And you probably saw a lot of them for a while. Nowadays, they stare down at you from the cover of magazines, pop up in High Definition on television, nearly knock you out while you’re walking down the High Street & my God, on Holiday?! You look over towards the bar and are faced with an army of naked ones – big ones, little ones, pert ones, droopy ones, tattooed ones, tanned ones – the list goes on. Girls compare them. Boys lust after them. Women complain about them. Grown men stare at them. While trying to have a serious conversation with you.
Yes, you. What’s that all about? Look at my eyes, fool!
However, despite years of trying to get male Management to look slightly north of their natural line of sight, I kind of understand the fascination. If I didn’t have them, I’d probably want to check them out too. Yep…I think boobs are great. I like the fact our nipples have a purpose. I’d even go so far as to say I’m rather attached to my 34DD’s. They suit me, and look rather nice (according to The Boy of course!)
I won’t lie and tell you I was born with this particular pair. I wasn’t. But the ones I grew myself were a pretty fabulous 34D too – I liked them a lot and would never have opted for surgery given the choice. They just needed a little bit of TLC to keep them in the best possible order after some hit and run induced damage. (Karma will get you Mr…) But that’s by the by. I was confident in the mirror before the crash, and I’m confident now. I hold my own on the beach. 99% of the time I think they’re marvellous.
But 1% of the time they can be a bloody hindrance.
My (neurotically insecure) AA cup Mother was jealous of them from the time they popped up at the tender age of 12. This made my teenage years ‘difficult’. My friends are all tiny so I can’t borrow their pretty clothes. They still manage to borrow mine though, confusingly. For some reason, strangers often assume that having large boobs must drain my brain cells. I don’t want to shock you, but some big-busted women are actually quite clever. We can do maths and everything. Crazy huh?! Shopping trips are now planned out like military operations, involving research, preparation and planning. Its not easy to pick up a teeny weeny lacy bra that’s going to rock The Boys world and still hold everything in, or a top that looks amazing without me looking like I want to star in Playboy. If it wasn’t for these bad boys I’d be a size 8, but there is no way I’m squeezing them into anything less than a 10-12. They also make choosing dresses trickier than it should be – a size 10 may be too tight around the breasticle area, and a size 12 will swamp the rest of me. It’s not easy to wear high-fashion with a huge chest. And girls, take it from me, it’s all too easy to look like a hooker when you show just a tad too much skin. And as far as I know – hooker is not a good look.
Oh, woe is me. Get those violins out will you?!
To be fair, I’m struggling a bit to find negatives. Boobs aren’t an affliction, they’re something to be celebrated. Boobs are magnificent. Yes, I’d love to being able to shop in a hurry like my girls, throwing on any shape and looking fabulous. It would be lovely to be able to wear sheer tops, or go out bra-less without scaring people. But these petty dramas are not enough to convince me that more than a handful’s a waste. Whilst I’m not the type to flaunt my chest for attention, I am fully aware that they can sometimes help you get served quickly at the bar, or skip to the front of a rather annoying queue…
Truth is – despite the fact they occasionally get in the way, I wouldn’t swap them for the world.
So what if I can’t run for a bus without getting black eyes ? I never liked buses anyway. Who cares if I have to shop in the lingerie department of Selfridges to get the right fit? Much more pleasant than Primark. What does is matter if I can’t wear that gorgeous low V necked, thigh skimming Balmain dress that I love the look of in Elle without looking like a Street-walker? My Bank Manager (and The Boy) can see the benefits.
I’m happy with my curves. I like my body.
Do I think I would I be as happy if I had a boyish, straight up and down figure? Yes! I’d love to look like Kate Moss. I think she’s the most beautiful woman in the world. But I don’t, never could, never will. So I make the most of what I’ve been given. Why fight what nature intended?
My male friends never agree on this topic and believe me, it comes up for discussion pretty often. Some like small and perky, others prefer them to be huge and round. I have one friend who is genuinely only interested in fake boobs. Another pal wouldn’t touch them if they’re ‘plastic’. I think this is great news for us ladies. There are plenty of lovely boobs to go around. Something for everyone!
It makes me sad to hear people talk negatively about the shape they were born with. Whatever size your boobs are, LOVE them. I can promise you there’s someone out there who’ll happily love them with you. Learn what you can and can’t wear, work out what what suits you. Understand your shape, cultivate your own style and dress to accentuate your curves, hide your bumps or highlight the perfect places. You’re gorgeous. Go with it.
Yes, breasts are wonderful.
I like mine.
I hope you like yours too.