If my boobs could talk...

If my boobs could talk I think they’d have a lot to say.  I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t get a word in edgewise…

Yes, this blog is about breasts.  To make it wittier I could name them something cute like “the twins” but this presents two problems.  One: they would be fraternal twins at best, as one is larger than the other and; two: my sisters are twins and that would be creepily confusing. For the purpose of this blog, I will call them “The Girls”,  though I don’t really do that in real life.  It’s a little too cutesy for my taste.  I would probably go with something a little more substantial like “the linebackers”, but that just doesn’t have the same flow.

As most young girls do, I began to develop in middle school.  Around the 8^th grade, someone started a rumor that I stuffed my bra.  Having been the youngest of four children and quite used to being teased; I knew not to show that it bothered me (that cute little kid in the movie Jerry McGuire had it mostly right: dogs, bees and other kids smell fear).  So when some smart-ass kid would wave his hand in the air while yelling to the teacher “it’s STUFFY in here”, and the teacher would agree while opening a window; I would laugh right along with everyone else.  It affected me. It was 20+ years until I could purchase a padded bra again (Nipples! Get your nipples here!!). If my boobs could talk, at this point, I think they would have said, “Don’t sweat it, Kid, they will love us in high school”.

I can understand why women get breast augmentation surgery.  There is an odd level of confidence that comes with having large breasts. I assume the same could be said for a man knowing he has a large penis. We could analyze this topic for hours as to why that is, but I don’t feel like it.  The point is, The Girls have served me well.

When I was 16 years old, and pretty much fully developed, I took a trip to Florida to visit my dad. He took us to a waterpark that had drink bars throughout the park (because alcohol and swimming is such a good idea).  I remember ditching my dad and sauntering up to the bar in my finest bikini (The Girls prefer to see what is going on out there). I ordered a beer with a confident smile and sure enough; I got one. I was beginning to understand the power I had been given; the bartender didn’t even look at my 16 year old face when he served me (The Girls were pleased).

I hate to say it (but you KNOW I will) having large breasts has opened many doors for me, both literally and figuratively. They have been a blessing and curse over the years, specifically when it comes to men. I cannot tell you how many times The Girls have been asked by a guy if he can buy me a drink.  My favorite response (and one I used often) was “they aren’t thirsty, but thanks anyway.”  (The Girls might disagree).  Sometimes it’s hard to determine if someone is really interested in speaking to me, or if they are more interested in finding out what The Girls have to say.   One might say this “curse” is actually what I deserve considering I usually have them on display in some way, shape or form, and I guess I would have to agree. However, if I were to wear looser clothing, they make me look heavier than I actually am (hey, this is MY excuse and I am sticking with it). And besides, The Girls wouldn’t be able to see this big beautiful world. 

Obviously having large breasts attracts the infamous “boob man”. If he is cute, I guess I am ok with that so long as he doesn’t actually expect them to speak…and he stops touching them at inappropriate moments.

In my mid-20’s I was living in Colorado and was hired as a legal secretary at a very conservative law firm. Needless to say, it didn’t last long.  I am not conservative in the least and while my immediate boss loved me, the owner of the firm was less than impressed by my outspoken personality and style. I was ultimately fired but not before my boss got me a replacement job with a larger-than-life criminal attorney from Texas.  Rowe was on his 5^th marriage at the time to yet another stripper that he met, bought a boob-job, and took her out of the strip club for a better life.   Rowe was clearly a boob-man.  Needless to say, I got the job. I would like to note here that I was a good legal secretary. My boobs may have helped me to get the job but had I not been good at it, I never would have kept that job for the years that I did as there was no inappropriate behavior between my boss and me.  Apparently, he just liked looking at large breasts, even at work.

I once dated a guy that informed me, as we were about to get intimate, that he was a “leg man”. Before I could stop myself (and this happens often), I blurted out “Well, what the hell are doing with me?!” The whole thing was not great. It wasn’t him as he was actually pretty good; but I was so distracted on what angle would make my legs look 6 inches longer than they actually are, I couldn’t enjoy it.

Hey Idiot, way to ruin what could have been an awesome hour of your life.