Saturday, March 3, 2012

I feel a profanity laced tirade coming on...

Okay. Let's stop tip-toeing around the elephant in the room shall we? I have big boobs. Really cussing big boobs. The cute new bras I dropped $90 on last week in order to have something with which to cover said boobs showed up today. Yes. 90 cussing smackers. And that's with free shipping and no taxes I might add. I was pretty stoked because that's usually what I have to spend to get two. Truth. I excitedly tried them all on this afternoon. And...not a cussing one of them fit me. Cuss. Foolish me. All hopeful and everything. I cussing know better. Out of the five I bought, I would have needed an 8 inch extension or instant boob job before I could even get more than two done up. All of them are now on their way back from whence they came with it costing me $7.50 to do so. And before you ask, I'm not a complete cussing moron. I did order all the same size. If you can trust the cussing tags anyway. And I've been fitted-about 200 times. And I bought the right size. Doesn't matter. I'm pretty sure most bras(and womens clothes for that matter)are all designed by a pack of anorexic A cup cussers with a mammoth grudge against anyone with a cussing jiggle or two. Or since we're being brutally honest here, three or four. I do resemble a plate of lumpy Jell-o jigglers in a few more places than I'd care to count.
But here's the kicker; in my travels on our wonderful world wide web today I found a fit chart that lists how to find your size depending on the manufacturer. There is a 2 or 3 size spread between them. What the cuss!!??! How do you even know what to buy? If you say go to a store and try them on, I will come over there and punch you in your cussing mouth, funny guy. I'd like to tell all the clothes makers thank you for deciding chubbies like me need buying clothes to be a more traumatic experience than giving birth. In the back of a Uhaul. During a downpour. On the side of a mountain in Bolivia. With Tom Cruise as a birth coach. Heaven forbid you consider more than 17% of the population you cussing cussers. Ugh. No wonder I refuse to buy new bras until the last one I have crawls out of the drawer and throws itself in the trash out of sheer exhaustion. The one I've been wearing begs to be put out of it's misery every time I put it on.
 But what's a girl to do?  Last time I tried to buy bras I returned 5 different sets before I cussing gave up. Let's not even talk about trying to find shirts that don't make you look like you're 10 minutes from giving birth or charging 50 bucks for a quickie under the overpass. Not to mention the impossibility of finding a swimming suit that actually fits you AND comes in under 150 cussing big ones. Again, truth.  
 I have had smaller chested girls congratulating me on my chest size since 9th grade. Yea many years later and I still get the occasional envious comment. Idiots. The rule that applies to salt in cooking applies to breast size. They forget that they can always add padding or something but it doesn't exactly work the other way around. Well, today I have officially had it up to my cussing eyeballs people.
Smaller chested girls be warned: next time you tell me how lucky I am to have big boobs I'm going to push you down and rub your face and smaller boobs into the asphalt until you admit that there is no way buying $10 bras at Walmart whenever you cussing feel like it is preferable to this crap. 

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