Lemme start by saying: I have huge boobs.
Like, you’d-be-halfway-through-the-alphabet-before-you-found-my-bra-size huge. This curse was bestowed upon me by the Genetics Fairy at the ripe age of 11, garnering unwanted attention from eighth-grade boys and rendering handstands impossible, (Ahh, my face. I can’t breathe!)
Thus began my lifelong hate affair with boobs.
Now, if you are one of those B-cup sisters giggling like, “Oh, just give me some of those,” I’m gonna need you to check your Tiny Titty Privilege. The struggle is all too real for well-endowed women and believe me, I’d join your IBTC in a second. Seriously, if there was a breast tissue donation bus parked at the local Walmart, I’d be in that chair all day eating free snacks and collecting T-shirts because I’d donate all my boobs.
But that’s not an option for me, and maybe I’m bitter about it.
Ask me why.
Seriously, though, ask me.
I’ll direct you to the day I bought my first actual bra.
Back when all my preteen friends were shopping the cutesy A cups at Victoria’s Secret, I was moping through the grown-up section at Sears, waiting to “get measured” by a gray little lady who wore floral prints and smelled like baby powder.
When it was finally my turn, I walked into the biggest dressing room ever where I had to perform a TSA-level strip-down. Grandma Baby Powder pulled out an actual measuring tape and asked me to stand up, spin around, hands out to the sides. I felt like a county fair watermelon as she oohed and aahed at my awe-inspiring measurements.
“You must have big-breasted women in your family,” she stated dryly, which did nothing to lessen my preteen mortification.
The old lady scribbled down some numbers and shuffled away, returning 10 minutes later with literally the only two choices in the entire store: a Pepto pink grandma bra or a flesh-toned monstrosity that looked like a post-op surgical sling.
How to choose, how to choose.
“Is this really all you have?” I squeaked, hoping there was something, anything else out there.
“You are lucky Sears has your size at all,” she responded. “We usually don’t carry cups this large.”
My eyes widened at the notion that my melons were so ginormous even Sears couldn’t help me. I mean, doesn’t Sears sell everything? Pretty sure I saw a tractor in the men’s section. I stared down at those oversized boobie traps and sniffled a bit, resigning myself to a flesh-toned fate.
My mom turned to the bra sales clerk and whispered that we’d take them both.
At checkout, I was horrified to discover that those two ugly bras amounted to a small car payment.
“They’ll be so comfortable, honey,” she assured me.
Spoiler alert: They weren’t.
Fugly, expensive, and uncomfortable.
This is the plight of big-breasted girls. And two decades later, I’m sad to report things haven’t improved.
I’ve spent the better part of my life reaching behind my back to connect four hooks the size of head lice. I’ve suffered through back pain, hideous prints, and even heartbreak when a seemingly perfect bra stabs me in the heart with broken underwire (Et tu, Brute!?).
How is it that humanity can put a man on the moon, develop life-saving vaccines, and chop molecules up like Hibachi chefs, but we can’t figure out how to make one comfy, cute, and reasonably priced tit sling for the well-endowed?
Seriously, will someone with money and means invent this? How hard could it possibly be to design some hardware for breasts larger than Fuji apples? The average breast size in the United States is a 34DD. You know what that means?
This is a MILLION. DOLLAR. IDEA.
NASA? Bill Gates? Shark Tank? Anybody?
I am begging, on behalf of mortified 12-year-olds everywhere, for someone to create this magical unicorn of a bra. Just design one over-the-shoulder-boulder-holder for women like me.
Women who avoid button-up shirts. Who wear two sports bras so their morning jog doesn’t look like a burlesque show. Women who would never consider a cartwheel for fear that her knockers might literally knock her unconscious.
Four thousand years ago, the Egyptians discovered a way to lift 2 ton blocks and gently place them into the shape of the pyramids.
Bra-makers of the world, there is no excuse for your inability to lift 5 pounds of breast tissue comfortably from the shoulder. Please, let’s make affordable, half-decent bras for big-breasted women a thing ASAP.
And make it a thing that comes in more than two hideous colors.
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