Boobs, bosoms, knockers, tits, twins, hooters, jugs, kahoonas, Bristols, cup cakes, fun bags, doorknobs, beamers, mambas.... Whatever you want to call them - for someone like myself, who's never really had much....okay, anything!... to boast about by way of boobage, I have to say that, wearing a push-up bra and catching your Boobschen with an actual cleavage is really quite intriguing. In fact it's rather an odd feeling indeed.
Courtesy of Calvin Klein*, who (amen!) happens to make very good bras for the mammory under-nourished among us, I've not only managed to catch crumbs between my boobs this lunchtime - something that NEVER happens - but I've also felt oddly exposed in the 'rack' area all day. Don't get me wrong, I'm certainly not saying it's a bad feeling per se, far from it, but for one who's spent the best part of my 43 years watching the occasional dropped food glide, blissfully unhindered, straight down into my lap, having it suddenly land 'higher up' is just, well....quite a novelty really.
Similarly, to look down and see two gently rounded baps (or 'dirty pillows', as Carrie's mum would call them) poking ever-so-slightly above my deep-cut, v-neck top feels almost cartoon-like....à la mode de Jessica Rabbit - to me anyways. Even though it would take a lot more than a couple of chicken fillets to give me that much cleavage.... heck, I'd need the whole flippin' coop!I'm honestly quite satisfied with the boobs God gave me, despite the fact I clearly got short-changed in comparison to both my mum and sister and ignoring the more demoralizing bra-hunting excursions where - to my horror - I've managed to turn a 36B bra into a stereo echo-chamber with my pitiful cries, "How can this be too BIG-BIG....BIG-BIG....BIG-BIG....BIG-BIG?"
And, for the record, I actually did try the ol’ chicken fillets thing just once, a few months ago….and wasn’t sure whether to shriek or laugh out loud when, as I walked across the restaurant, one of them decided to go AWOL, sliding all rubbery-plastic-y right down my ribs and very nearly landing on my left shoe. Thankfully I managed to grab it lower abdomen and kept it in a not-so-discreet stranglehold till I could at least get to the bathroom and figure out what to do. There I was, one boob bigger than the other and shuffling all bent up with a vice-like grip on the runaway fillet just left of my crotch. I can only imagine the shocked/amused/perplexed expression on my face at the time!
Funnily enough, during my single years, I was hesitant to invest in any kind of ‘enhanced/padded’ bra since I genuinely feared the ‘what-if’ of being caught in the throes of passionate undress and the sudden loss of my bra revealing the unflattering truth of the two marbles dwelling therein….the horror…. the horror. Of course, when I think about it now, any guy in the midst of a passionate embrace with a bra-less woman is hardly about to recoil in shock, grab his clothes and run the hell away, is he really?
And there was the time my niece, Bronwyn, was leaning against me on the couch while I read her a bedtime story and adoringly (or so I thought) nestled her head against my ribs. She nuzzled a little more as I continue to read, then ran her hand from my shoulder down my front - and suddenly sat bolt upright exclaiming, "Aunty Trini, why don't you have any boobies?" The look of utter shock-horror on Vicky's face in the background was priceless! Reeling from the blow, I managed to utter, "I do have boobies, you just don't see them so much in this sweatshirt." And with another blow, Bronwyn was quick to fire back, "But where? I can't see them. They must be small then, not like Mummie's boobies." Bless! Out of the mouth of blunt, cutting and brutually honest babes, eh?
So while my boobs are each a polite (though hardly over-generous) little handful, I nevertheless get a kick out of it during the couple of days each month when they're hormonally 'pumped' and actually have a presence - albeit that often comes at the cost of them feeling a tad sore and uncomfortable. Similarly, for the few years I was about 30lbs heavier than I am now, I also remember being a little bigger up top which, along with the overall extra padding, pushed me to needing Large and X-Large tops. Of course, the moment I lost a few pounds that was always the first place to show any sign of shrinkage.
And there you have it. I am of a chest that could certainly benefit from a gentle East-West shove from time to time. (You'll notice I didn't say Northerly, given that they've never been sizeable enough to warrant an argument with gravity.) And I have to say, the odd times I might pull out one of my more enhancing bras, I definitely feel like I've strapped prosthetics to my ribcage. Quite simply, I'm just not used to the feeling of cleavage and ampleness, nor the accompanying oggles from the opposite sex. Suddenly any eye contact noticeably drops a little lower down.
So while I always get to comfortably peruse the small/medium tops and occasionally feel deflated (excuse the pun) when there’s too much fabric that I can’t possibly fill, I at least get to try the other side of the coin too and squish those bumps into a rounder, cleavaged little cushion whenever I like. Though it’s odd when you think that, despite all these women with real and incredible chests and those out there getting breast implants etc., the average clothing market is still geared predominantly to shapeless females with boy-like, boobless bodies – telling us to be rail thin yet still thrust around a decent bundle of boobage. Nothing like mixed messaging and exploitive duplicity.
All in all I really am just an occasional tourist in Boobsville - trying to blend in with my clever disguise. And for some reason, on the days I visit, wearing my somewhat prosthetic bras, the oddness of feeling more ‘ample’ never ceases to amuse me.
* Thanks to Winners (or TJ Maxx as it's known elsewhere) I enjoy my boob-tastic Calvin Klein 'Envy' bras at a much more reasonable price of $16.99 as opposed to $45.99!
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