I hate my breasts.

All right, I know that there are those of you out there, women who would love to have my problems, who bemoan the fact that they are not endowed with mounds of fatty tissue hanging off their chests, who think that somehow all their problems would be solved, that poverty would be abolished and world peace miraculously flood the planet if only they were a cup size larger. Well, ladies, that’s your problem. The proverbial grass is always greener and, quite frankly, you small-breasted women have no idea how fortunate you are. Just walk a mile in my brassiere and tell me how much fun it is.

This rant all comes about because I went to a lingerie store at the mall this morning to pick up the bra and pantie set I had ordered over a week ago. There is one style of bra that fits me well, where the underwires do not dig into my ribs and the cups are the right shape for my spreading dugs at a price that I can actually afford. I have linked to a photo of the appropriate web page (since it’s impossible to navigate there without knowing what you’re looking for) so you can see what I’m talking about. The model in the picture has beautiful, smooth, firm, perky boobs, and must be a 34B tops. I, ladies, wear a 34D. Oh, I used to be a 34B, before I had children, before I gained weight with the onset of middleage. I think I’m probably bigger than a D cup now, but it’s hard enough finding that designation with my small back and ribcage than trying to find larger. You see, even when I lost weight, my breasts remained large. Not the result I was looking for, believe me.

So, I am a short, slimmish woman, with huge bazongas. They are not pretty bazongas: without a bra on I look like a cafeteria lady. Let’s hear it for pregnancy and breastfeeding. Hurrah! The think I like about the bra in the photo is that it doesn’t try to mould me into any particular shape, it provides a nice shelf upon which to lay my abundance, and lets it lie there, providing a suitably restrictive resting place. In the past couple of years, they have been coming out with new colours for the new seasons, and so I have gone a little crazy buying up every new one I can get. I have an ivory one (which is ready for the garbage, actually), red, black, light blue, wine, and this morning I picked up a purple one. Some of them even have matching panties. I had a choice between a thong and a bikini. Guess which one I chose?

So, while I was there, remembering the problems I had last Friday night with the straps of my bra showing with my gold gown, necessitating me wearing my long, curly hair over my shoulders to hide them, I asked the saleslady if she had a strapless bra with a decolletage in my size. This prompted an exercise in frustration, wherein I tried on three different bras in the dressing room, no, make that four, and felt like making that date I keep thinking of for breast reduction surgery.

What is it with moulded foam cups? What is it with padding when you already have more boob than you know what to do with? I have extremely soft, mushy breasts. This is an advantage in that if I were to develop a lump or anomaly, it would be easily detectable. However, they do not like being “moulded”. They are like water that spills out of a container, no matter how much that container tries to contain it. Push-up bras that are supposed to make you look fuller just make me overflow the cups. I literally spill out the sides. It’s not a pretty sight.

So, I came away without a strapless bra. Maybe next time I wear that dress I’ll secure my mammaries with duct tape. It’ll be cheaper, at any rate.

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