A wise man by the name of Shawn Carter once declared that he had a mere 99 problems to handle within the struggles of his chaotic life. Well, Mr. Carter, I’ll see your 99 nuances and raise you two more colossal complications that I can guarantee you will never have to deal with: boobs. Specifically, big ol’ boobies. Tremendous ta-tas, if you will.
You see, if like Jay-Z I was blessed with a measly 99 problems in life, I would probably have to rank my left breast as problem #2 and my right breast as #3 – problem #1 is obviously being forced to listen to people eat their food in public; why must people chew so loudly? Ever since my breasts developed 12 years ago, they have been the source of a wide range of emotions, including annoyance, discomfort and sometimes even blind rage. I liken my breasts to a cult film classic: When they first appeared, they started off very small, but over time they grew and grew to be very large and popular and ultimately gained a significant following (…mostly of creepy dudes). Essentially, they are The Rocky Horror Picture Show. My breasts have gotten me out of (and, um, into) some sticky situations, but for the most part they have been a straight up pain in the ass (chest?). Here are my top four large bust grievances.
1.) I Feel as if Men Don’t Take Me Seriously
I consider myself to be quite an intelligent human being, living a fairly successful life. I recently graduated from well-renowned university, with a borderline Cum Laude GPA, held a steady job for the past three years and have been published in various publications throughout California. You’d think that this information alone would fully captivate a man’s attention…but you would be mistaken. If I happen to be wearing a garment with even the slightest cut in the neckline, the attention always somehow redirects itself…elsewhere. Specifically, south.
I understand that this is only natural and how the male psyche works, but must every man neglect their manners, as well as all human decency, when in the presence of a large pair of breasts? And it’s not just the crude catcalling as I walk down the street either. I have been on dates with bright and lovely young men where, as the conversation intensified, so did their gaze. As I spoke, I would watch these men openly stare at my chest for numerous seconds at a time. They would nod their head and mutter an “uh huh” or two at the appropriate times, but their eye-line would consistently (and blatantly) be directed upon my breasts. Did they even know they were doing it? Did they even care?
My words, my intelligence and my presence become meaningless, due to this lack of self-control exhibited around fleshy orbs. Socially, my breasts have gotten me pretty far in life: I’ve been offered numerous dates, had countless drinks bought for me and cut to the front of the line at clubs. But, at the same time, I know it’s always for a price and that’s what makes it frustrating. Men, if you want to salivate over a piece of meat, go to Morton’s and buy a 24-ounce porterhouse.
2.) I’m Prevented from Wearing Various Articles of Clothing
First, I must get this off my chest (all puns intended): I am so jealous of all of the women out there, with your Kate Moss-like itty bitty titties, who are able to effortlessly run around without wearing any sort of bra. My breasts are far too large not to wear one, for the support and lift this contraption provides is absolutely necessary. Much like Britney Spears’ father, my bra, too, holds a conservatorship. I liken myself to a slave, who is under the control of my breasts; I am Princess Leia and my breasts are Jabba the Hut. (For all of the guys reading this though, don’t worry, my breasts bear no physical resemblance to Jabba the Hut. I repeat: No. Physical. Resemblance.)
But even when wearing a bra, there are still many items of clothing that my large chest does not allow me to wear. V-necks? Out of the question. I look like a Jewish Dolly Parton Impersonator. Button downs? Please. My boobs use their super size and strength to pop those top two buttons right open. Flowy blouses? Cool, I look seven months pregnant. Cute bras? Yeah right. At my size, the ones I wear look more like bullet-proof vests.
3.) Sometimes They Hurt
While my complaints so far have strictly been vanity burdens, when it comes to the actual body parts themselves, they aren’t without some major grumbles either. As I’ve mentioned, they’re big. Very big. And with great big breasts comes great presence of gravity. In fact, I’ve even nicknamed my breasts the Ying Yang Twins because they’re identical and they both get low. Like birds, my boobs too fly south for the winter… OK, and the spring, summer and fall.
A major side effect of big breasts can also be that they’re pretty painful. Imagine having two giant cement-filled bowling balls strapped to the middle of your body, with no support to hold them up. Because of this, you are forced to strap them into a tight contraption, with little to no breathing room, lifted much higher than anywhere nature intended them to be. And this is all on a daily basis. Whoever said beauty is pain was probably referring to underwire.
So after a long day of work, really, there’s nothing better then coming home, stepping through the door, and immediately removing your bra, throwing it across the room in a victorious act of triumph. You no longer own me, you constrictive piece of armor! I’m free! Ask any woman and she will tell you without hesitation that taking off her bra is one of the best moments of her day.
4.) Sometimes I’m Self-Conscious
Furthermore, not only do my breasts betray me physically, but emotionally as well. From time to time, they have the power to make me feel self-conscious about my body. For instance, sometimes I want to cross my arms because I’m angry. Or tired. Or it’s just comfortable. I’m not trying to seduce you. I’m not posing for Playboy. I just have feelings. Because of this, I am forced to cross my arms over my chest, rather than under and then that whole comfort thing goes right out the window. Insert sad emoji with one single tear running down its cheek here.
Even lying down braless has at times made me feel a little uneasy. Have you ever heard someone say, “Ta-da!” and then motion their hands outward, as to show off what they’ve created? It’s almost a jazz-hand like motion, if you will. Well, if you’ve never seen a large pair of breasts lying down, I’ll let you in on a little secret: Those breasts do the same thing as the hands. They fall out to the sides (as opposed to sticking straight up), parting the red sea — which is what I’ve nicknamed my heart. It’s not the cutest thing to look at right as you’re about to fall asleep.
And finally, my worst enemy? Exercise. Any kind of running, stair activity or jumping jacks and I’m left with two black eyes. Thanks a lot, boobies.
The following two tabs change content below.
Samantha Hirsch, a Bay Area native, is a recent San Diego State University graduate, earning her B.A. in Journalism with an Emphasis in Media Studies and a minor in Film, Television and New Media. She is currently living in Los Angeles, pursuing her dreams of becoming a comedy writer. Her main passions are to make people laugh, to entertain through the art of writing, and all-you-can-eat buffets. She is a pop culture junkie who hopes to eventually travel the world. And believe it not, she doesn’t like piña coladas or getting caught in the rain. Follow her on Twitter @slhirsch to read her observations, complaints and manifestations of mashugana.