My Unbelievable Boobs
My boobs are saggy, sad and small. Actually concave. How something could be inverted and saggy defies logic, gravity and biology. Unless you are my boobs. Then you defy logic, gravity and biology. They are a tragedy of epic proportions and misproportions.
Don’t get me wrong. I never had big beauties. But what I did have didn’t droop. And it got me into a 34B. Now I’m at best a 34AA. A sinking 34AA. I always thought the advantage of being small-chested was that you wouldn’t sag. Guess I was wrong. Horribly wrong.
I can’t look at myself in the mirror. I can’t motivate to go shopping for a bra that fits. And now, like my love of granny panties, I’d rather throw a tank top over my swimsuit than go shopping for a new one. How did I become this unmotivated frump?
I wish I could be like the woman in this picture. But I want to shoot her. Since I can’t, I shrunk her as small as I could. See how that feels happy-boob-lady. Someone needs to feel my pain.
I did the couch surfing version of her spree two nights ago. It was depressing–on my couch, in granny panties and sweats, drinking wine and surfing websites trying to find an XS underwire bikini top. It is harder than you might think. I finally found a few on Lands’ End and ordered two. They haven’t arrived yet. I’m sure they will be too big.
Everyone says your boobs change after a baby. With Fia they went pretty much back to normal. Maybe a little smaller. But Emmett gave me an outie belly button and abominable boobs. Figures the Y chromosome did me in.
I am not getting implants. So I either need to a) remove all mirrors b) go blind or c) motivate to go shopping. None of the above sounds terribly appealing. Any other ideas?
Pic of bra via ShutterstockAdd a Comment