Homage to Small Breasts

I hesitated to write about my breasts, but then I thought: my religious and political opinions mean so much more to me than my cup size, and I have aired those publicly a time or two, so what the hell? Sometime in the last year at one of my book club meetings, we women got around to dissecting our bodies and criticizing our own imperfections whilst talking up those of our friends. It’s a habit that women fall into all the time. One particular area that always gets a liberal amount of discussion time is the chest area, and I don’t mean the pectoral muscles.

I read recently that the average chest size of women in America is now a C-cup. The reason for that is that so many women are getting breast implants that it has bumped the average cup size up. Well, if little, ol’ A-cup over here felt inadequate before, reading an article like that is sure to do me no good. At least, not at first. Let me state here that I do not judge any woman who has had a boob job, and I know plenty. I have nothing against the enhancement. I just simply won’t ever get it done. There are a few reasons for this, but the main and most influential reason is this: I am cheap. Insanely cheap. SO unbelievably cheap when it comes to spending money on myself. I try to be generous with others, but with me……psssh! C.H.E.A.P. So, I could never justify spending the amount of money it would take to bump me up a cup size. (Take heart, I have been known to haggle with surgeons over the cost of a colonoscopy as well)

Thousands of articles and blogposts have been written about the emphasis placed on women to be physically-perfect, so I’m not going to beat that dead horse. Instead, I will simply talk-up the joys of having small breasts. For example, the fact that 95% of the year I leave my house bra-less, and the other 5% I wear a bra simply to cover my nipples. For those who don’t think that is a big deal…you must be male. Bras are uncomfortable, cumbersome contraptions that leave wire marks beneath your breasts, indentations in your shoulders and if you’re like me, have you searching out the nearest stiff-barked tree to scratch your back around the bra clasp. And trying to find a discreet way to adjust yourself in public? Forget it. Plus, do you realize what an aphrodisiac it is walking around bra-less? It’s like going commando.

I don’t have to worry about saggage. My boobs are always perky and pert, as they are small enough for gravity not to notice. Having gone through two pregnancies, the coming and going of breast milk has not given them the deformed and deflated look I have heard horror stories about from my big-breasted friends. Instead, they have a nice, mature rounding (and they don’t look a day over puberty). And one of the most attractive bits of breasts, the side boob, is present and viable on even the smallest boob. I can wear any kind of article of clothing, any type of shirt or dress with any kind of top and not be hindered by the size of my melons…er…I mean…peaches. I can wear strapless and not waste a second worrying about them “spilling” out. He he he – the very idea makes me chuckle.

I love camis, and they love me. Need I say more?

I can hike, run, do push-ups, and jump without giving myself a black eye or a backache. Sure, they can never be used as a flotation device, but their size gives my breast stroke an advantage over others’ as there is less resistance in the water. I can lie on my stomach at night and not compromise the natural curvature of my spine and lower back by the awkward elevation of my torso. If I drop a crumb or two down my shirt, there’s no finding it later in a deep chasm of cleavage. It simply falls out the bottom of my shirt when I stand up.

Boob sweat? What is that? Sounds gross…

I love my breasts. My husband does, too, or he has put up quite a convincing show of it for the past eight years. Sure, there are times when I think it would be nice to pump them up for a night out or something, but then I sit back and think of all these wonderful freedoms allotted by the size of my gems, and I think I’d rather stick with what I’ve got.

Now, if I could just do something about my ass….

 

 

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