When I was about eleven, I pined for boobs.
When I was about twelve, I got them.
In the beginning, I was approximately the same size as most of my friends. Maybe a little bit bigger. But I was not the girl in the class that had to start wearing a bra in fourth grade and, up until probably my freshman or sophomore year in high school, I could still go without a bra and look good.
Alas, I did not stop growing until seventeen. By then I had surpassed the “My, what nice, firm breasts you have” category and jumped straight into “Bam! Ta-tas!”
Buying t-shirts is a dangerous game in this category, let me tell you.
Bathing suits? Also awful.
A couple of years ago I dropped from a size 15/16 to a size 8 and my then boyfriend convinced me I looked super hot in a bikini, thus beginning my secret love affair with skimpy swimming attire. The problem is not so much that I’ve put about ten pounds back on since starting a desk job last year, but more that I have to shop in January to even come close to finding tops that fit.
I’m even starting to appreciate that stores sell bathing suit pieces separately, even if they only to it for monetary gains, because I have to purchase a top and bottom in completely different sizes and it saves me from having to buy two bathing suits.
And halter tops? No. Way.
Last year I found the perfect polka dot bandeau top at Target and in a couple years, when I’m tired of it and the fabric starts to really wear, I am fucked.
The only clothing item huge boobs come in handy for is lingerie. And not even normal lingerie. Corsets. You know, as long as I can get them to stay most of the way in the corset.
Which was the problem with my dress this weekend. It has a corset (with boning) top that my kajungas just barely fit into. Yet, somehow, I was the only one who noticed. Maybe that was because I had to zip it all the way up around my waist, then put the straps over my shoulders and push my boobs down into it.
Then figure out how to breathe. While singing. No biggie.
In other news, I’m convinced I need to take a short-ish trip on the diet train. The booby part was perhaps not the only portion of the dress seeming a little snug. It was just the most snug.
That being said, I really want some french fries. I’m starving.