Big Chested? Not me.

I have wanted a large chest from a pretty young age.  On TV and ads, big boobs were everywhere.  It was after all, a mans world back then.

I realized I had a problem when I was about fourteen, and all my friends had boobs but me. I was trapped in what was then called a starter bra, which was essentially a bra that could be worn on a boy it was so flat.  It was different from regular bras because it had a pink bow in the center.  That pink bow was a BOW OF SHAME.  If you were fourteen and still sporting the pink bow your prospects in the boob department were grim.  I tried to remove the pink bow in the hopes of losing the stigma, but the manufacturers had used a space age thread and polymer that affixed that bow PERMANENTLY.

All my teenage friends had big ones.  It seemed that when God was handing out the boobs I was holding the door.  

When I was around eighteen, I took a job as a lifeguard at a local beach.  All the girl lifeguards were stacked but me.  Mine were only big enough so you could tell I was not a boy, and I was convinced no one wanted to be saved by a small chested girl.  I only got old people that were nearly drowning, none of the young guys splashing around like the other girls.

Got married, had kids, and forgot about boobs for a while (breastfeeding actually worked, the kids didn't starve to death, or look at them questioningly as a food source) but at around thirty I began to focus on them again.  I really wanted to buy some, but they were so expensive.

 It still seemed that girls with big chests just had more fun.

So I did the next best thing.  I bought these little "cookies" you could put in a bra and they made my little girls seem bigger and perkier.  They were fraught with disaster, however.
They had a nasty habit of flying out of my bra if I had on a low cut shirt and was doing anything strenuous.  The worst incident was when I was working on a gravely ill man as a nurse in the ER, and one cookie flew out of my scrub top and plopped on his chest while everyone was working on him.  Everyone stopped a moment, (I think they thought it was an organ, as it was flesh colored) and for lack of anything better to do, I snatched it off the mans chest and put it in my pants pocket.  Everyone then resumed trying to save the mans life.  Ultimately the man didn't survive, and neither did the cookies.  They are in the corner of a panty drawer, laughing at me.

So now I am in my mid forties and find that some part of me still thinks about it.  I am convinced that they will (combined with hair extensions and a tummy tuck) make me the most attractive middle aged woman on earth.  or at least on my street.

So for now I shop at Victorias Secret and dream of someday having absolutely  fantastic ones.  I need to hurry though.  I am worried that by the time I finally get them, I will look like an old broad with a coconut bra.

One can but dream.