When I was 12, I remember sitting in the tub, staring down at my body in utter terror, witnessing the first signs of soft lines burgeoning across its terrain and praying to god that I wouldn’t get my mother’s enormous “bosom” (her word).
D can be a vitamin, a bad grade, or, in my instance and if you’re seeing double, a bra size. At times, that size may be hailed as the holy grail of femininity and can be used as a type of currency by both sexes. I often felt cheapened by the cache.
Seeing that society seems obsessed by these twins, why does no one truly cater to properly dressing them? The clothing industry obliges in just two ways: the purchase of a bra or a bathing suit. You either look like you’re nursing or you look like you’re generating the majority of your income by sliding down a pole upside down. There is really nothing inbetween.
There is a great, rather unknown ’60s film seared into my brain called The Bliss of Mrs. Blossom, starring the impish, yet marvelously effervescent Shirley MacLaine. In it, a brassiere manufacturer has invented a bra that could enhance a woman’s bust via inflation. In a moment of excess, a bevvy of females float away into the sky like inflated balloons. Somewhere within this tale lies a mythical lesson.
The importance of breast size, penis size, butt size, inflated or the reverse, comes at a price at both ends of the spectrum with inflated and deflated senses of self worth. Let’s just enjoy what we’ve got!
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Tags: Bliss of Mrs. Blossom, body issues, boobs, bra, breasts, cleavage, cup size, feminine, lingerie, self confidence, Shirley MacLaine, size