EDITOR’S NOTE: I am so pleased to share Beautypendence’s first ever guest post, in three parts. Debbie is a dear, longtime friend who was so generous to share her personal story with you. I hope that you enjoy!
If you missed Part I of Debbie’s story, you can read it here.
As I grew a little older, I was happier with my boobs. I left the confines of home to start training as a nurse at a London Hospital. I had to wear a stupid hat there too, but apparently it didn’t give the same “PLEASE GROPE ME” message. But the catcalls continued. I think English workmen have a fetish about nurses in uniform.
When I entered a wet t-shirt competition during a week-long motorcycle racing event on the Isle of Man, my boobs were much admired. I had fun… and four pictures in Club International. If you’re not familiar with this publication, let’s just say the women are usually lacking more than a wet t-shirt. Also, I learned that the squadron leader for the Red Arrows (the Royal Air Force Display Team) voted for me. I think it was the red trousers I was wearing.
Once I moved to Texas and the girls began their mission of filling up all available space and trying to see if they could reach the ground, I became more aware of them. Although I still went by the motto of “If you’ve got it, flaunt it”, I found that the girls didn’t look as nice as they used to. The looks they were getting were no longer, “wow, that’s a nice pair”, but were now more along the lines of, “wow, that’s a lot to carry around”. I often wore clothes that covered and hid them, and I didn’t like their shape in some bras. And while I would still wear a bikini when we went out waterskiing and wakeboarding, I did not like how they looked in a bikini, swimsuit or tankini.
I was still wearing 36DD bras, and if they could, they would have written to the bra trade union and said they were being abused. They probably were. However, I had discovered sports bras. Let me tell you, a big sports bra that is not properly designed does one thing and one thing only – It generates a uni-boob. I was now the not-very-proud owner of a large single entity growing out of the front of my chest.
I had an epiphany when a friend got married. I was in the bathroom during the reception, and she needed a little assistance. She had a beautiful wedding dress, and I watched her do the “leaning forward jiggle adjustment” that she had been taught at a fabulous bra shop in Austin. I finally decided to bite the bullet and see how big the girls really were and also see if I could make them look better. Did you know they use very clever psychology when you are measured for a proper bra? After measuring you, the first bra they bring you is like something from a Wagnerian opera that Brunhilde would be wearing.
After thinking your life is ending and “thank god I’m married because I’ll never get a boyfriend wearing one of these”, they bring out other more feminine bras. Some have lace and flowers and even Swarovski crystals on them! Life was a little better. When you first step out in your new bra, it feels really odd as they (the girls) have never been so close to you, and your clothes fit differently. You feel great. Anyone who is well-endowed should go and be properly fitted for a bra at least once. (EDITOR’S NOTE: Speaking on behalf of the not well-endowed female population, anyone with breasts of any size should go and have this done.) They have different bras depending on how you are shaped. Apparently my girls don’t feel that the front is the only place they belong; they start under my arms. The lovely bra ladies make you feel better by calling that “fullness”.
Stay tuned for the final chapter of Deb’s breast reduction saga next week!
Images: Debbie pre-reduction – author’s own, tennis player uni-boob, Brunhilde
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