Breasts, anyone?
8:45 a.m.
This morning I would like to talk about breasts, mine specifically but not exclusively. This is not meant to titillate, so there is no need to fear that this discussion will become in any way salacious. But first I would like to recount a little poignant tale of the inevitability of encroaching maturity.
When my daughter was 11, she started developing breasts. I remembered from my own adolescence how they could be very tender, especially in motion, and so I presented her with a training bra. She really didn�t want to try this thing on, but I insisted, saying that she didn�t have to wear it if she didn�t want to, just try it on and see if it made her more comfortable. So she tried it on (and I�m afraid I misjudged the distance around her ribs; she�s bigger than I am), and looked at herself in the mirror, and declared that she would not wear it. I said fine, and we put it away.
That night when she was in bed I heard sobbing coming from her room, and upon investigation found her weeping and sniffling into her pillow. �What�s the matter, honey?� I asked. �I don�t want to grow up,� she said, tears streaming down her cheeks. �I�m sorry, dear,� I replied in my most comforting tone, �but that�s not an option.�
I started growing breasts at an early age. By the age of 12 they were as big as they would get until after my pregnancies, a very ordinary 34B. Because I am such a small person, they always looked bigger on me, which is probably why I never had any problem attracting the boys. Well that and my great beauty and magnetic personality, but that�s for another diary entry. Anyway, I continued through life with size 34B breasts for many, many years, and although they grew enormous with pregnancy and during lactation, they always reverted to their normal size afterwards.
And then all of a sudden they started to grow. Now, I did gain weight, this is true, but so what! Soon I found myself shopping for new bras, since I had gone up to a C cup. Still 34 around, though, although there were some bulges over and under the straps. Then, one day, to my consternation, the C cups no longer fit. Horrors! It happened like this.
A couple of years ago I took my daughter out to buy bras, and we had quite an ordeal. She still retains the larger ribcage, but the breasts just haven�t grown very much. In other words, she is the opposite to me. It is extremely difficult to find cute brassieres in 36A, and we enlisted the help of a helpful saleslady, whose help was invaluable. I had an opportunity to check out the lingerie department and saw all the cute bras and thought to myself, �Self, you deserve to buy a really cute bra or two.� So I went back one day alone when I had the time.
I found a whole bunch of cute bras in 34C and took them into the dressing room with me. THEY DIDN�T FIT!!!! I was flabbergasted. So, I started looking around the store for larger cup sizes.
Do you know how difficult it is to find a nice-looking brassiere in 34D? They practically do not exist. I looked at myself in the mirror in the sickly fluorescent light they have in those dressing rooms, and thought I looked like a cafeteria lady. Arrrrrgh! Finally I found a 34D that fit and held me firmly in place, but it was not cute. Nothing cute came in my size, and anything leastways attractive did not fit. I was so upset. Here I had come to the store with the sole intention of getting myself a cute bra, and I come away with an industrial-strength soutien gorge to keep my bowling-ball sized watermelons from hanging down to my waist.
Now, it is most young women�s desire to possess large breasts. I am not sure why. They are a pain in the neck, the back, and during certain parts of the month, themselves. Clothing does not fit right when the rest of you is a size 8 and your chest is a size 12, and we all can�t afford our own personal seamstress as I�m sure Dolly Parton does. Running is out of the question. Period. Several months before our 20th wedding anniversary, the man and I had a pinkie-pact to lose 10 pounds apiece. He lost 15 and I lost 5, so that made 20 between us. Not a single ounce of those five pounds came off of my chest, I swear. Grrrrrr!
One day last summer I found myself in a fancy lingerie store, and thought, what the hell, maybe there�s a helpful saleslady who is looking for a challenge. I described my plight to her, and she installed me in the change room and started bringing me brassieres, all 34D. What an array! And all of them, save two, looked like shit on me. So I bought the two that looked good. One of them was around $45, and the other (I shudder to think that underwear could cost this much) was $112. But they looked great. My boobs didn�t hang to my waist, they actually looked smaller and more compact once I�d got my clothes back on, and with a little bit of decolletage they looked quite sexy. Hooray!
Now I am losing weight again in earnest. I do notice a slight difference in how my new bras fit, i.e. I no longer bulge over the top. But I keep hoping that I can go out shopping again, this time for 34Bs like in my youth. This may be impossible. The best I can foresee is that the 34Cs in my drawer will fit properly again. Sigh.
This has been a totally self-indulgent diary entry, and if I am alone when I get to the end of it, I blame no one.
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