One of the things I love about The 3 Day Walk is the creative team names. Last year, one of my favorites was my post’s title, The Bodacious Ta-Ta’s. This year, as I peruse the team name list, there are names like Walkers For Knockers, Badass Blouse Bunnies, Bippity Boppity Boob, Mammo-Rama-Ding-Dong, Melons In Motion and so many more that I can’t even begin to share the love for them all. My team name is The Tenacious DD’s and well, I think we all suit the moniker.
Growing up I cursed my flat chest. I was the last to wear a bra and really, it was obvious that the only reason I wore one was to fit in during gym class. Then things changed. Rapidly. I went from zero to sixty in less than a year. I had some serious bubble boob going on, ladies, I think you know what I mean.
Eventually my stepmom decided that I needed help and took me in for a real fitting. I cried at the “diagnosis” of a 32DD chest. Do you know how hard it is to find bras in a 32DD? For those that don’t know bra sizing, 32 is itty-bitty round the ribs and DD is ginormous through the bust. Not a normal combination so not one that is easily found in a bra.
I suffered through the stares and ugly bras and the discomfort of a large chest for over a year, complaining all the while. When I was 17, I was given the go ahead from both my parents and the insurance company and I went in for a reduction. Thank ye, the lord. Or something like that.
When I came out, I was beyond happy. My 32B self was tha-rilled. I didn’t have to wear a bra! I could wear cute dresses! I could wear tank tops without busting out of ’em! Life was grand and I’ll be damned if I wasn’t a hot little 18-year old.
I went off to college the next year and gradually, over the course of the next three or four years, I put on weight. A few pounds each year, but enough that it was noticeable and guess where it all went? That’s right, folks, right back to the bosom. Joy.
I’m accepting the fact that I’ll probably never be small again. I suspect that even losing all the weight isn’t going to make much difference and my poor girls will be big forever. So instead of bemoaning that fact, I’m trying to love them. I’m fighting my urge to cover them up and am instead reveling in the power that is big-breasted-ness.
Do I got it? Oh hell yeah. Am I going to flaunt it? Damn straight.