Monday, March 10, 2008

Boobs in Toyland...

So, yeah... today I wanna talk about boobs. Not boobs in general, because that would be a little weird, but specifically, my boobs. And the giganticalness of them. And how I hate, loathe, despise and deplore the giganticalness of them.

But let's make one thing perfectly clear: If you're a guy and you're reading this, get the fuck over yourself. You ain't gonna get to see 'em, I'm not writing this for you to compliment 'em, and please don't drool all over yourself trying to find something in this post to tit-illate you. Hee. I made a joke.

One more thing: If you are my brother reading this, this post is NOT about my boobs. It's about my... um... feet. Yeah, my feet are big and gigantical and hurt. So, nothing here to see, thank you very much, get back to work. Love, your sister.
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Anybody who has ever been a big woman knows that life is not a big fat bowl of red cherries when you are carrying around extra weight. You're not in shape, so everything you do is harder to do. It's hard to find clothes that look good on you. People treat you differently when you're LARGE. Funny as it may sound, you get overlooked a lot.

If you've ever been a large woman over 40, it's even worse. Your back hurts. Your hips hurt. Looking for clothing that flatters? Forget about it. All you can find in stores is trendy young clothing for overweight teenagers, or muu-muus for fat old grannies. And you don't really give much of a fuck anyway, because even if you COULD find clothes that fit and looked good on you? You're too old and tired to wear 'em anywhere anyway.

If you've ever been a large woman over 40 with gigantical boobies? Shoot yourself in the fucking head, because your life sucks. This is the category I now find myself in and I'm 'bout to tell you WHY it sucks:

Can you find a bra that fits? Not for less than a bazillion dollars.

What's the first thing that happens to every shirt you own? You run into something dirty with your boobs, or you spill food on them.

Do they sit up nice and high on your chest, where gigantical boobs would look best? Are you fucking kidding me? I can put mine in the pockets of my jeans...

When you lay down, they either fall to the side, and get crushed under your arms, or, if you're wearing a bra, they back up and choke your neck. It gets hot and sweaty under there, and first thing you know, you've got a case of the boobie diaper rash, and wearing a bra is then agonizing and hallucinatory. They get in the way of EVERYTHING. And forget about hugging someone. You can't get close enough without feeling like you're molesting them.

My brother, the one who isn't the brother who reads my blog, stands three feet away from me and opens his arms. He puts his hands on my shoulders and says, "love you sister." That's the hug I get from him.

My other brother, the one who SHOULD NOT BE READING THIS POST ABOUT MY FEET, once found my bra and put it on his head. "Look!" he yelled. "It's a hat for two people!" It fit his damn head, too. And that was 15 years ago. They are BIGGER now. Jesus, take the wheel...
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I was measured, not long ago, by an overzealous Lane Bryant employee, who wanted to be sure I was buying the right SIZE. She was like a fucking drill instructor. "Lift those arms! Suck in that gut! Tighten those chest muscles!" Dude, tighten my chest muscles? I just took my boobs out of the pockets of my jeans so you could MEASURE them, and you want me to tighten my chest muscles?

"You kiss yo' momma with that mouth?" I growled. It didn't help that she was about 20, with HUGE boobs that sat where they were supposed to sit.

"You need a 42 G." she said sweetly.
"I do NOT wear a 42 G." I just as sweetly replied.
"The tape measure doesn't lie." says she.
"The tape measure is a wormy camel-toed liar!" says I.
"We don't sell that large a size here in the store," she said, totally ignoring me, "so we'll special order it for you. Will that be cash, or would you just like to trade in your car?"

I bit the head off a chicken, to show her how tough I was, and how she'd better not mess with me...

*sigh*

And then I pulled out my Lane Bryant charge card, and said, "Can you at least have it delivered to my house? In plain brown wrapping paper?"
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My girls, Thing 1 and Thing 2, thought it was hilarious that their mom wore a 42G. "Do they even make G's?" asked Thing 1. She was in awe.

Thing 2 was embarrassed and in denial. "Dude, you can't ever tell anyone you wear a 42 G, for God's sake. How humiliating."

Aw, Gee. You mean I won't be able to wear that great t-shirt, I had special made for me? The one that says, "Look at these, world!! They're G's!!!" Thing 2 pisses me off, sometimes.

But, I had the last laugh...

On that fateful day, when the box arrived with my brand new NUDE-colored 42G bra, with heavy duty straps and underwires the size of BRIDGE arches, I took it out of the box and gazed at it...

You could fly a plane into that thing. Hell, you could fly TWO planes into it.

Carefully, I tried it on, in the privacy of my bedroom, with the door closed and locked... I hooked the hooks; I adjusted the straps; and I turned to face myself in the mirror....

My boobs were lost in that thing...

"AHA!" I screamed in triumph. "I am NOT a 42G! What NOW! Uh-huh! Whatchoo think 'bout THAT!!" And I took that giant motherfucker off and stuffed it back in the box.

Where it sits, still, because I am too embarrassed to take it back to the store and say, "Ya' got this in a 42F?"

9 comments:

janet said...

oh my sweet, you are back with a vengeance.

it's not NICE to make me spew cinnamon dulce latte all over my laptop.

and just so's you feel a little better, my girlfriend wore a 32 i when she was nursing. yes, that's an "i" ... she had to cut out the tag and bring it in to chorus rehearsal because NO ONE BELIEVED HER.

what IS the highest letter it goes to anyway? ;-)

Chris H said...

I say stop wasting money of gigantic bras... and get a bood reduction! I know at least 4 women who have had it done and are THRILLED TO BITS with the results!!! No more pain and embarassment... ever!

Kirsten said...

Girl, I feel your pain! Except mine are gigantic And full of milk. That is gross..and NUTRITIOUS!

Candygirlflies said...

I, too, feel your pain... I am the toothpick with Boobs. And I KNOW they sized me properly, because I've got the qualifications in clothing design to prove it.

Now that I'm on the brink of forty, and am feeling all the aches-and-pains associated with this issue in every fibre of my being, I, too, am contemplating The Reduction...

After all, those ginormous, expensive bras would make mighty effective double-slingshots, doncha think??? I'd much rather spend my hard earned money on funky socks, instead.

xo CGF

baseballmom said...

Um, yeah...I am right there with ya. I wish I could chop the suckers off, but unfortunately not all of us have the resources to just get a boob reduction. Dang. I am also way too chicken to do that, even if I did have the money. I do use A and D on the rash, and it totally works, though.

Tom said...

I totally don't know WHAT you're talking about. I have none of those issues. But not for lack of trying. I've concentrated and grunted, but nothin. It's just as well, i'd be showing them to everybody... via the internet, cuz I'd NEVER LEAVE HOME!!

Burfica said...

I"m behidn so I'll be reading a post or two a day.

That was funny shit. I got a new bra after being measured, and the dam thing made me look like I had two torpedo's on my chest.

Or party hats under my shirt.

Yeah I returned the madonna bra.

Dory said...

I'm a 32D. Don't hate me because I'm disgusting. Hate me because I'm stupid.

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