My Girls.....My TITS!

My girls. The twins. Whatever you want to call them, I have a love/hate relationship with my titties. 

No, stop. Let me be really, really honest here for a minute. I have a hate/hate relationship with them.

I hate that they never fit in bras.

I hate that I can't fit into Silk & Satin, or Victoria's Secret, or any of the other mall lingerie stores that have dozens of different bras on sale, and grab something cheap and sexy.

I hate even more that the only bras which ever fit my tits are sold in old lady boutiques and department stores.

I hate that the bras sold in those Delta Burke boutiques and department Stores which do fit me never cost less than $60.00 dollars.

I hate that these $60.00+ bras have straps wide enough to be used as tie downs for a mattress on a car hood.

I hate that my tits makes me look fatter than I really am.

I hate that they bounce around when I run to the point that I can almost knock myself unconscious with them.

I hate that I can fit into a size 14 or XL top, except that I need to go two sizes bigger to accommodate my boobs, so that my tops gap everywhere else.

I hate that I can't skip wearing a bra, or I look like one of those sloppy bra-less women we all sneer at. 

No bra+little boobs=sporty. No bra+giant boobs=sloppy

In an ideal universe, I'd install a titty remote control that lets me pump my boobs up and down, depending on the situation. In bed? Pump them up! Wearing something low cut and sexy! Click those fuckers up to a size F! Running up a flight of stairs? Down to a  size B.

Since that's not likely to happen anytime soon, I'll just sit here and bitch about them, after once again suffering through a day of sweaty under-wire titty flops.

Erika