10 Reasons I Am Jealous Of My Small-Breasted Friends
There are women all over the world whom I hear lamenting their small, God-given breasts. They don’t feel sexy enough or they don’t feel feminine enough, they say. They wish they made dresses look better or whatever. As a member of the Giant Booby Club, I’m here to tell you that big breasts are not what you imagine them to be. Since my early 20s, I’ve secretly wished to have mine reduced because I find them garish and unpleasant. That’s why I’ve decided to share the top 10 reasons I’m jealous of my friends with small breasts.
1. They know what actual eye contact is. When I was younger, it was difficult to hold conversations with men that involved them looking me in the eyes. My eyes received minimal attention, making me feel every bit an object. It took much longer to convince men that I had more going for me than my chest, especially when so many of them were unaware that I had a neck, much less a brain.
2. The concept of maybe owning a bra is very real for them. I kid you not. I had a friend in high school who owned exactly one bra, and she only wore it with white shirts. Considering we were both part of that group of kids in high school who wore only black, you can imagine how much action that poor, lonely bra got. My bras are so overused it isn’t funny, mostly because of my next reason.
3. They can buy inexpensive bras from KMart or WalMart. In high school, I could get away with this. Barely. I wore a very full C cup (with the beginnings of what appeared to be four boobs for the price of two) or a comfortable D. While making pickings slim in the aisles of the mart, I was still able to afford a few bras at once. Since marriage and children, the only place I’m buying a bra is online. There is no buying in bulk once you reach a G cup, friends. One bra requires the relinquishment of your firstborn. I only have two kids so … No wonder you see so many braless, saggy women out there. When your bra order rivals your mortgage payment, support for the girls seems a little extravagant.
4. They have pretty underwear. My husband walked past a Victoria’s Secret once and lamented my lack of lacy underthings. I sent him on a hunt to find a matching set of lacy goodness in my size. He came home empty-handed and said, “First, I couldn’t even find your bra size anywhere, regardless of what material it was made from. Second, I’m sorry I called your underwear Amish. I had no idea big boobies were grounded from lace for life.”
5. They know and live the definition of “perky.” When your mammaries get past the WalMart rack, perky no longer exists. Unless you’ve paid good money for them to be that size because, well, science. Those of us gifted these bad boys via hormones have never boarded the perky train. Nature just can’t work against gravity that hard.
6. They can have a baby and nurse them comfortably, even beautifully. Nursing my kids required more hands than I had. I couldn’t hold my baby in the position he needed to be in and manage my engorged breast at the same time. Nursing in public was not an option, because the bigger your boobs, the less discreet you become. I was overwhelmed by their size. Could you imagine the stares I’d get with my breast, twice its normal size, unsheathed for the world to see? Men everywhere would come to a screeching halt while I felt like a wildebeest nursing its young on the Serengeti, minus the dulcet tones of Marty Stouffer’s narration.
7. They have no idea about the horrors of boob sweat. Deep in the dog days of August is the worst. You can literally wring the sweat out of my bra, and underboob heat rash is a thing. You of the small boobs haven’t the first clue about the horror of that rash. Relief requires a yoga pose that even the most limber woman among us struggles to perform.
8. They can have pretty necklines on their dresses. Those of us endowed girls have two options when it comes to necklines: Amish or Elizabethan collar. Any other neckline makes us look like we’re starring in the upcoming porn flick How Many Smart Cars Can My Cleavage Hold?
9. They can carry their friends’ breastfed children. We girls with ample bosoms are the All You Can Eat Buffets of the infant set. Plopping your breastfed baby into our arms is like waving two giant steaks in front of a starving dog. The only time they’ve been near breasts that big was when they were in need of desperate draining, and babies are happy to oblige. In the safety of our arms, your docile cherub turns into an octopus with eight hands diving into our shirts. Nothing says I need more arms like trying to pry those baby chicks away from our already strained necklines.
10. They can roll over in bed without major whiplash or nipple damage. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve rolled over in bed and either smacked myself with my own boob or crushed one in my armpit. Not fun. The worst is when I’m deeply sleeping and my husband rolls over, inadvertently placing all his weight on the elbow he planted on my nipple. Not the most pleasant of wake up calls.
Regardless of where you fall on the breast spectrum, I’m pretty sure you can see that small is definitely where you want to be. I personally think that if your boobs are bigger than apples you should be allowed a free breast reduction via your insurance. Or at least a lifetime supply of free bras.
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