Boobs. Jugs. Cans. Whatever You Call ‘Em, This Is a Post About Having Big Ones.

Yeah, I wrote another column for—and this one is all about owning a pair of double Ds. I know it sounds like a sexy piece, but it’s more like a rant. Cue the angry, misguided feminism!

Strapless bras were obviously invented by some 34 B chick who wanted to torture us full-figured ladies with a wired contraption that inhibits both breathing and ever letting go of the sides of your dress. I’d like to be holding onto a cocktail, not tugging at my tethered tits all night, thank you very much.

I don’t own strapless bras, or fancy bras, or pretty sheer bras trimmed with lace. They don’t make the delicate, sexy strappy cups in my size. I must have told hundreds of desperate Victoria’s Secret shoppers to look elsewhere to support their massive breasts. We want cute convertibles, but we really need pickup trucks to haul these babies around.

We need to really belt them in—and I do belt them in! I really, really do. I swear to god, I have more support around my chest than Betty White has on Facebook. But the fact of the matter is even when they’re strapped tight against me, I still have huge breasts. I have melons. I have the qualifying skills to be a Hooters waitress.

[from my pseudonymous column at The Gloss.]


One response to “Boobs. Jugs. Cans. Whatever You Call ‘Em, This Is a Post About Having Big Ones.

  1. Yeesh that must be rough.

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