Turning a Leaf

Or something like that...

It's been a long time since my last post and it isn't that I haven't thought of posting something it's that so many of my previous posts were so depressing I felt it was better not to spread the shit around. Yes, you're welcome.

Today I want to talk about boobs. You know. The big, flabby things that wobble around on the chests of most women. Until two years ago I never had boobs. Well, I had them but they were small and discreet things that minded their own business. When I was a teenager it was a bad thing. As an adult I learned to love the fact I was terrifically flat chested. I shopped in the children's department for bras until I was 40 years old. Oh yes. I stood in awesome self-righteousness when I saw a former cheerleader whose tits hung to the ground while seven or eight crotch parasites (term stolen from 'mommy wants vodka') ran around. I may have once envied those voluptuous meat bags hanging out there but NO MORE! Nope. I felt privileged at having enough mammary to feed my children but not so much as to dangle to my waist.

In the beginning when those first breast buds began to protrude my mother proclaimed that I MUST have a bra. Understand that way back in the 60's all those bras were stiff as concrete and marvelled in circular stitching so as to come to a perfect point. My sisters and I referred to them as 'pencil sharpener bras'. Honestly, I have never had a pencil so sharply pointed but that is beside the point. (Hehe... pun!) My stepsister used to get her bras a couple of cup sizes too big and I would make her totally crazy by punching a dent in her boobs when she wasn't looking. The funny part was that she never knew until for some reason she looked down. Hilarity ensued. Anyway, the aforementioned bras hurt the hell out of my ribs. It was like I was being held in a vice grip and I couldn't breathe. After a couple of days wearing a bra my ribs would start turning blue. The more I wore them the worse I hurt. So, I stopped wearing them. It wasn't a women's liberation thing. I never set fire to any of my underwear. I simply tucked the offensive underwear into the back of a drawer and tried my best to forget about them. Oh the shit I took over that! You would think I had set fire to a National Forest. I had less than AA size boobs but without a bra it seems everyone notices. Seriously, doesn't the world have something better to do?????

Years passed and when the occasion arose I wore a bra, white shirts, office Christmas parties and the like. It was all well and good until two years ago when I started to gain weight. Suddenly I have real boobs. Not the tiny things I had before but real, honest to goodness, floppy fat things wobbling around like two 'possums fucking boobs. I hate it. I have started wearing a bra when I have to go out in public because well, HELLO! I am totally irritated by my fat, floppy things laying across more fat floppy things and with this heat it's kinda nasty feeling so I've worn a bra just to keep that at bay. It's pain and bruising vs. fat sweaty stuff. Sheesh. How to choose?

I am pushing 60 years old and for the first time in my life I have boobs. What kind of fucking joke is that? I can't have boobs way back when I could have used them? Oh NOOOOO! Give them to me now when all they do is get in the fucking way. Merciful God my ass.