I’ve got a rack on me. I know this. I not only know this because I have a mirror, but because I haven’t been able to comfortably sleep on my stomach since 1989. I’ve been rocking these things for awhile now, and they’ve been a D cup for far too long.
As I’ve written before, I have a serious love/hate relationship with my boobs. Some days I think they’re so great! They look amazing in the right bra, I can properly fill out a dress, and they provide a pillow on which to rest my hand when I’m staring at the TV. I don’t know why, but my hand always falls there.
But then there are days, like today, where they piss me off. I shouldn’t have to wear a bra while I’m inside in my underwear working, but I know that if I don’t, my back will ache tomorrow. It’s not fun. Bad big boobs.
Huffington Post did a piece today on what not to say to small-busted women. As usual, I was annoyed that this article didn’t relate to me in someway. Did the world not get the memo that I need everything to relate to me, or I get confused? Or maybe I have yet to send that memo; I’ll double check with my imaginary assistant Rebecca to see.
However, what is most important is that we cover what not to say to the big-busted ladies in our life. Just because we have huge knockers doesn’t mean that we don’t require some level of sympathy. It’s hard having big boobs sometimes. It really is! I really don’t want to have to wear this fucking bra anymore today! Someone coddle us large-chested women of the world and hand over the painkillers and wine!