A Titular Tale of Ta-Tas
Living Out Loud — Perspective is boobalicious
You may have gleaned from the title of this piece that it is about breasts. The one item every single mammal has at least one of. Breasts come in a veritable variety pack of sizes and shapes but without diluting the water too much, I’m writing today about human breasts — specifically women’s glands. Funny but when you break it down to its simplest definition, the breast is a protruding organ that secretes milk after pregnancy. That is the reason why they are hanging around. Yuck. Yuck.
A Moooooo-ving Tale.
Boobs and Brassieres — Baby!!
Of course, we all know they have evolved to so much more than what meets the eye, so I’ll take you back, for a moment, to my childhood. I was one of three children and the only girl, the baby of the family. I would share a room with my mother because we were kind of poor, and therefore, I watched her change every day. I knew my mother’s body better than I did my own. My mother had ENORMOUS breastages, from my POV. It was hard to believe that I would ever have anything even close to what she had and I was fascinated by their size and how my mother used to wrangle them into her wide white bullet-shaped brassiere. She’d push and tuck but some bits still managed to pop out. That was nothing compared to my Sicilian grandmother who, I believe, would tie hers into a small topknot (like her hair) and stuff them into her foundation garment. If she didn’t, I’m almost certain she could have tucked them into the waistband of her pants. These women, in my early life, definitely did not see their bosoms as sexual.
As I got older, I knew that my front end would be forthcoming, so I waited. And waited. Aaaaannnd waited. Two of my closest friends in high school were overachievers in this arena so once again I found myself besieged with big boobies. I had placed my order but it never came. If I was born in the 1920s, I had the perfect Flapper figure, boyish and flat, flat, flat. I was a tomboy growing up so didn’t give the whole thing much thought until I hit my twenties. This was in the eighties when the sex appeal of the female breast was out there, loud and proud. We had some leftover looks from the sixties and seventies, with gals who preferred the no bra “nipples to the wind” look but there was a huge uptick in the pushup bra look, where it seemed that women's breasts were virtually spilling over everything they wore. Boobs were definitely a focal point — pun intended. Push-up bras, enhancement devices that resembled chicken cutlets, and specialty tape, were all designed to give the viewer the best possible…er, view of what a gal had to offer.
I did a lot of things pre-boob. Moved to the Sunshine State. Got married. Got a nice acting career going. Still… something was missing for me and it was in my shirt. I think it all came to a head when I was out bra shopping and I was standing next to a pre-teen. I was now in my forties and we were reaching for the same bra — a “barely A-cup”. (Sad wah-wah sound inserts here). #trainingbra
I made up my mind and called a reputable surgeon. After waiting more than twenty years, I wanted some front acreage. Not all surgeons are equal in this task. One guy insisted that I go BIG or go home. I knew he was the wrong doctor for me when he measured my chest with a metal tape measure, like the kind you’d get at a home improvement store. Yeah… no. He even pushed for silicone, which was riskier AND he wanted to charge me more for that type. I couldn’t grab my shirt and get out of there fast enough. My next doctor was perfect. She said all the right things and she was spot on with what I wanted. We agreed that BIG was too big for my tiny body. I didn’t want melons. I wanted natural-looking breasts. That is exactly what I got too. I still remember the post-surgery “unwrapping” and reveal of these lovely ta-tas. Angels sang. The sun shone brightly upon my…. head. They had finally arrived.
Enhancement surgery is not fun. The pain was pretty intense, I think because I was so flat to start with. My left boob squeaked for about two months as well. My dogs were happy about that. Healing took a while but I was happy and enjoying the benefits of doing mundane things, like bra shopping and actually having something to put in those cuppy parts of a bra. Who knew??
So, there is part one of my journey to the Chest o’ Wonder. There is more so if you are interested, watch for my next installment, A Titular Tale of Tatas — Part Two, when the Big C comes knocking at my door. Ciao Bellas!!
