Thursday, October 20, 2011

The Boob Chronicles

"I'm not bad. I'm just drawn that way." --Jessica Rabbit

Of all the intriguing items on my bucket list, the one that has gotten the most attention, by far, is #8, "Get a boob reduction." (And all of the comments were sent via email or shared face to face. Not one posted a comment on the blog. I found that interesting.) 

Really, yall?

No thoughts on the Trans-Siberian Railway? No questions about why I want to paint my ceiling sky blue? No ideas about how I might overcome my bird phobia? As you wish. I will address the topic of my pending boob reduction. [Consider this a public apology to my sister, who thinks I'm a little insane and is probably mortified that I feel the need to address this on the In-ter-nets.]

Without exception, upon reading my bucket list, all males expressed utter disbelief (udder disbelief? Sorry. That was bad.) that anyone would want to do such a thing, and all the women have essentially rolled their eyes and said sarcastically, "Oh, waaaah. Poor thing. Must be nice . . . ."

It's not like I want to have surgery. Going under the knife is not my idea of a great time. But the cons of having big boobs are starting to outweigh the pros. So, in this installment of A Drop in the Bucket, I will give you some of the reasons I want to minimize these bad boys.

1. They get in the way. 
Sometimes I need to wear a belt, and in order to see the buckle, I have to contort in uncomfortable ways. I also occasionally enjoy yoga, and some positions call for lying flat on the floor on your tummy. If I lie on my stomach, my boobs get pressed into the floor and I am essentially giving myself a mammogram. It hurts.


2. They are a threat to public safety. 
Any shirt that buttons up the front presents a hazard to the general population. Once I get the girls locked and loaded in there, that third button from the top could fire across the room at any moment, endangering anyone within 15 feet in front of me. Years ago, I anchored a live newscast every afternoon, and everyday I would cram these suckers into blouses and jackets. My biggest fear was that one of those buttons would pop off during the newscast and either break the camera lens or take out a camera operator's eye. Safety goggles, anyone?

3. They're bad for my back. 
Have you ever carried a baby in a front-load baby carrier? It is torture on the back to have that extra weight up front. Now imagine having to lug that weight around 24 hours a day. And let's not forget that I suffer daily from fibromyalgia, which causes chronic flu-like aches and joint pain. Anything that adds to that discomfort is a buzz kill.

4. Nothing cute fits.
If a shirt fits up top, it's too big in the waist. And if it fits in the waist, my boobs just laugh. And let's not even discuss swimsuits. Or bras. Even turtlenecks are iffy when you're packing heat up top. You'd think that if you're covered in cloth from head to toe, you don't have to worry what size your boobs are. Not so fast, my friend. I throw on a turtleneck, and all of a sudden I have, in the words of a large-chested partner in crime, a "what-not shelf." Throughout the day, I find anything from food crumbs to bits of makeup sponge to surprisingly large quantities of eraser dust perched atop my bosom. It's just gross.


5. Looks can be deceiving. 
I know people shouldn't judge a book by its cover -- or a broad by her boobs -- but we all know that everyone does it. I'd love to wear a cute sundress or sweet summer top with spaghetti straps. (I live in Columbia, SC, for Pete's sake. You've heard the saying: The only think separating Columbia from hell is a screen door. Translation: It gets really hot here.) Not happening! Even if I choose what would be, on another woman, a very conservative V-neck t-shirt or sweater, I put it on, and all of a sudden, I'm Jessica Rabbit.


Poor, misunderstood Jessica
While that look may have a place, I assure you it is not here. I'm a conservative, quirky, kinda-nerdy chick who lives in South Carolina. But I put on a shirt, the girls peek out a bit, and people get the wrong idea. I don't have the personality to pull off the buxom, mysterious, pouty-lipped look that makes the men swoon and the women get catty. Who would even want to? I've got a man. And I'm a mom. I don't have the energy for that kind of thing. I just want to get a shower and get everything covered before I run to the grocery store. And that would be much easier to do without all these breasteseseses getting in the way.


Don't get me wrong. I know that there are a million problems worse than having big yabos. But why not do it if it will make me more comfortable and confident? You've heard my reasons. Now convince me otherwise. I'm all boobs -- I mean, ears.



If you have a few minutes and want a giggle, go to Twitter
 and do a search for #NicknamesForBreasts. 
My favorite? License and Registration. Hahaha!! ~




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