Yes, indeed, I am blogging about my boobs. Breast sounds sensual or medical. Tits sounds adolescent. Boob sounds floppy and irreverent, so that's the word I'm going with. If it offends you, save yourself and exit the blog now.
I have big boobs. I have always had big boobs, though most people don't notice. I think my shoulders are slightly broad or something, because my boobs just seem like the right size for my body. Actually, when I look at other women,they all seem to have boobs that seem to be the right size for their body,too, so maybe that's how they are designed.
A few years ago I wound up getting skinnier than my high school weight due to the Divorce Diet. My boobs shriveled and shrank. 115 is not a weight for grown ups, I think, plus I had nursed two babies and I heard that deflation might occur. For the first time, I looked better with my clothes on than off. I became a fan of indirect lighting. My boobs totally looked 70 years old.
However, thanks to Pillsbury, Haagen Daz, and Angelo's Pizza I put the weight back on and my boobs re-inflated. It was AWESOME. However, they lost some of their lift. Some meaning most. Losing some lift is akin to saying your boobs clap when you run down the stairs, except it sounds better.
In addition to some loss of lift, I also now have free-range nipples. They go roaming about wherever they want and refuse to stay contained by any known contraption. I decided recently that perhaps instead of buying cheap bras as usual, I'd invest in some high quality ones in an effort to teach them a lesson.
As my weight has fluctuated, I thought perhaps a larger cup would help. I went online to Victoria's Scaffolding and surfed their clearance department, settling on the two cheapest they had in my size that were passably cute and practical.
When I unpacked them, the first thing I noticed was that each cup was approximately the size of a yarmulke. I tried them on my head, and indeed, they fit perfectly! While I will admit that I have boobs of distinction, I don't think of them as being the size of my head.
And yet, the bra fit like a dream. It lifted. It made them look twice the size they were before (something I was not anticipating, but not complaining about). It didn't actually separate - it mushed them together in a cleavage-maximus way, but I think that was done intentionally by the engineers at Victoria's Scaffolding.
I wore the new bra out to a bar. (Underneath my dress. I'm not really that bold, and it wasn't really that hot out.) As soon as I walked in, my girlfriend commented on my exquisitely large boobs. And then her husband did. And her mother. And other friends. For the first time in my life, I wanted a shawl. It's not that they said anything bad, and if you were to ask me if I would want to go out and have everyone appreciate my amazingly large boobs, I would have said yes. I didn't expect to get a little self-conscious about it.
It made me wonder if they had actually grown.
For example, when I was a kid, there was something called "the pencil test," which you performed to determine if your boobs were big enough to buy your first bra. For those who are not familiar, it involves placing a pencil underneath your boob. If it doesn't fall out, you need a bra. To provide my gentle readers with a good idea of what "loss of boob lift" means, I performed the pencil test with the following objects:
|Things I can hold up with my boobs. Yes, Really.|
I didn't drop one of 'em.
I was in my brother's wedding in November, at which time I was measured for a dress, so I decided to see if they really had actually grown or it was just the bra. I just did the same over the bra under the armpit measurement that the seamstress did, and although my weight is the same, my diameter has increased 4 inches.
For those of you who feel left out of the boob discussion, fear not. As an owner of a large-size set of knockers, I have envied smaller busted women on many occasions. I think smaller boobs can be way more attractive, and you can wear more necklines without looking like a giant sausage or a drag queen. If I wear a low cut top, I look like I'm for sale. If my friend R wears the same shirt, she looks ravishing and sexy. And she doesn't clap when she runs.
This blog is not about how great big boobs are. This blog is about being 39 and suddenly discovering you grew breasts overnight, or obtained them through purchase of new bra. whatever. And the nipples? Nope. Still not contained. Still roaming all over the place.
So what on earth could have caused this? I know you are thinking pregnancy, but trust me, that is not the case. Voodoo? Possibly. Wait - remember the movie Weird Science? Somewhere out there is a guy in a bra hat spinning a dial. I am sure of it. Or it's cancer. Actually, that is a symptom of breast cancer, and I'm a hypochondriac, but i imagine it would just be one breast, not both. So I googled. Menopause. Freaking menopause can add an entire cup size.
My new porn star boobs are heralding hot flashes and increased emotional instability! According to Dr. Oz (blame google for the quote, I've never watched the show) perimenopause can occur anytime between 35-55 and can cause “perimenopausal rage.”
Well, if that's the case, I'm sure as hell gonna enjoy the monster boobs guilt free. If they are heralding all that unpleasantness, I'm gonna go down in a blaze of glory.
|See? I am not crazy. My boobs require their own zip code.|