So you think big boobs will make you happy. Have you heard my story?
Even before I became a teen, I started to take notice of the growing twins inside me. It was awkward to be waaaay ahead of the race. Although growth spurt may be ordinary that time, I yearned for my friends to relate to the extraordinary amount of change I went through. I was the first to outgrow baby bras and always the last to purchase the ones with maximum support. With lace and bold designs, please!
If I make it appear as if it were so much fun, please think again. I can still get offended when random gapeseeds engage in a silent staredown with my kids. It's freaky to receive personal messages online with title that goes like ( . )( . ) It can get saturating how other women feel comfortable talking about my mammary glands within my earshot daily. It's anti-climactic to dig boobfuls of sand before I can finally go sunbathing. It's frustrating that I can't crawl in Sumaging Cave in Sagada nor tie my own shoelaces as easily because these humps get in the way. It's sometimes far from relaxing when massage beds don't offer breathing space for my chest. See what I mean?
Sure, you can argue this abundance is better than to your sob story of scarcity and point to countless depictions of big breasts as the ultimate weapon of seduction. However, I oftentimes feel inadequate when I see breast exposures on movies, magazines and websites. Such makes me scared of full moons and gravitational pulls. Makes me feel sad my nipples aren't pink and small enough. Makes me ashamed of their distance to each other, my stretch marks and all. Heck, I can probably pose nude as long as you will let me conceal my chest.
It's ironic that what most people assume as my biggest asset sometimes feel like my biggest insecurity. Aside from what I mentioned above, I slightly blame it on boobs for all the continued encounters with perverts and my perceived too-boobsey-to-be-taken-seriously image. The flick 100 Girls probably best explained why men are so drawn to this particular body part. See, its three concentric rings best resemble a dartboard that anyone with an appendage will do and say anything to hit the bull’s eye. And it makes me feel like a target, a plaything they can discard right after. Let me laugh out bitterly here in the corner.
I would like to afford a breast reduction procedure when I grow up. I now accept donations. =P