Back to a B cup
As I continue my weight-loss journey (I always feel so ‘reality TV’ when I refer to anything in my life as a ‘journey’), things are obviously on the shrink. If I could pick the points to decrease I would go for the old problem spots, but weight loss doesn’t work like that. Weight loss has a sick and twisted sense of humour and thinks going from apple-shaped to extreme pear-shaped is hilarious.
So now, my collarbone is definitely coming out to play, and I’m pleased about this, but the rate that my shoulders, décolletage and neck are shrinking are leaving my hips in the dust. But, some might be surprised to hear, I’m very pleased with the shrinking of my boobs. I’ve always been smaller on top and, over the years, have suffered my share of teasing from pervy old fellas, schoolkids and friends for it.
When I was breastfeeding I didn’t know what to do with my giant boobs. And, by common standards they probably weren’t even that giant, but on me they felt like huge shiny disco balls smooshed ineffectively into their maternity bra trappings. I’d never had to worry about wearing a low cut top in the past because my lack of cleavage was never going to offend anyone, but all of a sudden every time I bent down I felt like I was going to knock myself out. I kept losing half my toast down my top and I started using my rack as an actual rack, resting everything from cups of tea to the folded washing upon it. It was quite a novelty while it lasted.
I thought I’d love having big boobs but I really didn’t. In retrospect, I think my jealousy of my chesty friends was a bit unnecessary, sure huge breasts looked good on them, but on me I felt like I looked like a beach ball with a shrunken head on top.
So this weekend I picked up a couple of new b-cup bras and marvelled at the lack of spill over the tops. They’ll never put me on a wonderbra ad but I couldn’t care less. If you want more than a handful on me just squeeze below the waist.
*I just wanted to add that this is my ‘grass is always greener’ experience and not at all a criticism of big juicy bazoongas – they look squeezalicious on many a lady but just not on me.