I debated with myself over whether or not to write about the size of my chest with you all again, but in the end I decided that it's my blog and I can do what I want. If you are not interested in my bossoms and their adventures then you can kindly stop reading.
My chest is on my mind a lot (haha, funny mental picture) because it's kind of hard to ignore. I have a relatively small body frame and relatively not-so-small bossoms. I don't know where I get it from. My sister has the same issue to a point. Our mother keeps telling us that hers didn't get big until after she had kids, so it's not her fault. Regardless, it's an issue I've been dealing with since middle school.
It was seriously like I woke up one day and they were there. They've gotten progressively bigger over the years, but it wasn't like I started out as a nice A-cup (oh, to be an A-cup and get to wear string bikinis and shirts with low necklines...sigh). I went from nothing to somethings in no time.
Once I went to college and finally made it to a healthy weight (I was barely 100lbs. when I got there and finished the year at 115lbs., a fact which made my mother exclaim, "You look like a girl now!"), the somethings gained weight, too. A trip to Victoria's Secret for a massive stock-up was required pretty much every year. Why do you *have* to go to Victoria's Secret you ask? Well, the thing is, when your bossoms make up a significant percentage of your weight, you don't want to go low-budget. It's like with trashbags or tin foil: you think you're being all smart buying generic but end up cursing yourself when you realizes it's just not the same.
Anyway, one of those trips had to happen today. Although my new workout regime has been helping with the discomfort, the girls just weren't being taken care of properly. I've been ending each day with soreness all around my middle as my bras seem to have staged a mutiny, pinching and poking me at every turn. Not only that, most times I'm required to wear some kind of binding tank top under all of my shirts to keep things under control. It was time. So, nearly $100 later (sorry, hubs) I left with 3 new, properly fitted bras (that were on sale and still cost over $30 a piece for about 2 yards of fabric, some elastic, and some wire) and thoroughly pissed that I had to go through the whole process AGAIN. It almost makes me want to not have children for fear of what kind of science fiction hoopla will go on up there once that happens.
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8 comments:
The comparison of under gear to tinfoil/trash bags is too funny :)
A-cups aren't all they're cracked up to be either my friend. It would be nice to be a B and actually fill shirts in, or be able to hold strapless dresses up.
I too can sympathize with the strapless dress because I can never find one that will fit both my chest and my torso. I guess Bs have it all.
No way dude, B's are the vanilla of the chest world. The truth is, no woman has ever been satisfied with her body.
Loaded statement, there, Chrissy-poo. That must be Chris (male)- not Chris (female). Put yourself in the mind of a woman for a mo'...Try not being able to simply jog across a crosswalk with having to hold your testicles down, due to the excess bouncing. Try having to have your "boys" supported all day by a wire coat hanger and a rubber band, you'll be in pain and walk funny for the rest of your life. Pretend guys wore form-fitting jeans, and your jeans fit you everywhere else, but you could fasten them because your balls were too big. Now, in while in the mind of a man, that might be ideal. But society today doesn't like it when we run around with our pants open. So you're forced to buy the next size up, just so you could fasten your jeans. Bummer, they fit so nice in the smaller size. Now they just don't look right. REMINDER: women's clothing aren't sized by actual MEASUREMENTS as men's clothing is. They are sized by IDEAL. So when you here women complain about their bodies, alot of times it's not that they are dissatisfied with them (we ALL could use all little tweaking, even you...I'm sure you have a mole or something that you hate) it's that they are complaing that the are forced to conform to an ideal that they had nothing to do with setting up. All they can do is simply wait for the fads to head toward their body type for a fleeting moment.
I cannot shake the image of Chris trying to get in a nice jog without her balls flapping in the wind - it is a joy she may never know.
That is funny as hell. I'm seeing her at Stuart circle with her Ipod, minding her own business...
Please pardon my chris mix-up - I forgot she changed IDs a hundred years ago.
It's fine. I mean, it's true. My balls DO get in the way of my jogging.
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