There are three things about me that have not changed since the 7th grade:1. My inability to shut the f*#k up when it’s inappropriate to speak.
2. My height: I will be 5’2 for the rest of my life. I was destined to be a short little girl forever. Hence, the massive collection of stilettos in my closets.
3. My bra size: I think this is directly linked to the fact that, in 7th grade, I made fun of my best friend for having AA boobs. “Why do you even NEED a bra? I’m the one who has B, almost C cup breasts, at 13 years of age!”
For any teenage adolescent bitches out there who want to get on their high horse and ride that bitch into the sunset, beware: that little, snide comment not only made my best friend feel bad until she magically bloomed into a B cup over the summer, it no doubt brought me the worst karma ever in the boobs department.
I got stuck with B or C cup boobs for the longest time.
However, when I walk into Victoria’s Secret, the friendly sales girls always reassure me that my “girls” are, actually, a 36C. Most women would cringe in embarrassment to declare their cup size on a public website. Well, if you know me well enough, not much embarrasses me. (Which no doubt is making my mother cringe in embarrassment right now.)
36C isn’t so bad, right? Well, I don’t think so. During the summer months, I can get away with wearing cutesy little sundresses without a bra. The guy I was going on fun little dates with this summer once spent about an hour or so staring right at my chest as we played pool. I think he forgot the rules of the game because of my deep-V sundress. I don’t think he cared that I had gone without a bra, in fact, I think he preferred it that way.
There are definite advantages to being a small cup size, but no matter what, we all have “grass is greener” syndrome at least a time or two in our lives.
Which is why, over the summer, I found myself in the offices of a plastic surgeon in Scottsdale, asking myself, should I increase my cup size to a D? DD? Or should I keep them all natural?
Victoria’s Secret came up with the new Miraculous collection of bras, appropriately titled, the ‘Bombshell’ bra. This bra promises to increase your size by two cup sizes. I didn’t believe all the hype, and was leery about the whole “memory foam” concept, so I thought I’d test it out for all of you shoppers in cyberspace.
When I was in the fitting room, I asked the sales girl “What happens when the guy takes it off, and that bad boy hits the floor? You think he’s not gonna hear the sound of 2 lbs of memory foam hitting the tile floor?”
She said, “Honey, after he stares at your chest the entire night and fantasizes about taking the damn thing off, I don’t think he’s frankly going to give a shit about what’s hitting the floor.”
Good point. Still, I felt it was false advertising. I bought it anyway. I wore it to the post office on my first journey out of the house after being on medical leave for almost a month. I ran into a friend of my mother’s. She stared at my chest for about 5 minutes, while having an important conversation with me. She was telling me about the mastectomy she was going to be having in a few days.
It could not have been shittier timing.I then went over to my sister-in-law’s for a glass of wine.
“Oh my God,” she said as she opened the door. “Your boobs are freakin’ HUGE!” “But hey, your waist looks really tiny.”
Okay, it worked. Case closed.
Although I bought the bra, increased my cup size, and managed to draw quite a bit of focus to my upper body, I realized something: I am much more comfortable in regular, thinly padded bras. Although having a little extra “oomph” up top is nice, and although it’s interesting to see what you might look like if you had your breasts implanted with silicone, I think I’m quite happy with the perky boobs I’ve had since the 7th grade. I didn’t need $5000 surgery, or even a $50 bra, to make me satisfied with “the twins.” That appreciation had to come from within myself.
And to my adolescent best friend, who I so callously and insensitively teased over 15 years ago: trust me, boobs? They’re kinda overrated. Sure, they serve a purpose, and they’re nice to have, and cleavage? Hey, it can get you quicker service and sometimes even a round of drinks.
But in the end, your own breasts, whether nestled in the cups of a memory-foam filled brassiere, or liberated in a slinky cotton sundress like LC in the summertime, are always your best bet.
To purchase the Victoria's Secret Miraculous Bombshell Bra for yourself today, order online at www.victoriassecret.com, or at your nearest store. For a bra like this, I'd recommend trying it in the store before you buy it, and also getting fitted by a bra specialist first. This way, you'll know all your options before buying. Which, when it comes to your breasts, should always be a rule of thumb no matter what you're doing to enhance your "girls."
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