Tantrum Warehouse
Tact Free Since 2003

Breast Betrayal

My breasts and I put down arms against each other the year I turned eighteen. We had been at war since I hit puberty and began wanting them. I wanted big ones. My boobs stubbornly insisted on remaining small.

The standoff continued through high school. I was a girl with hips and a round ass but no breasts. This is the second worst figure to have in high school. Behind a boy with hips.

Funny how there is so little difference between those two body types.

I was waiting semi-patiently for eighteen because my mother had promised me boobs by then. I think I have expected to wake up that morning and there they would be. Sadly, this was not the case. And I really couldn't believe her when she said, "Just wait until you are twenty-one!"

Because my mother had just proved herself to be a known liar. Also, my sister was over twenty-one and blatantly boobless.

In time I accepted my boobs. There are some advantages to having smaller breasts. I have never worn a bra to bed. And could honestly skip one under tank tops (but wouldn't). I have never really NEEDED a sports bra (even when I have done sports . . you know, that one time).

I got really comfortable with my breasts and with the rest of my body.

And my breasts rewarded me. They said well done young grasshopper by becoming rounded and more proportionate. Still on the small side but obviously doing the job.

And I was happy. A couple of years ago I found out I was wearing the wrong bra size and once I fixed that my boobs were happy too.

Apparently until two weeks ago.

Now my breasts are angry. They have rage. They need therapy. They are considering terrorist acts against me.

I don't know why. Nothing has changed. I wear quality lingerie in the correct size. I do not let strange men on the bus fondle them. We have no posed for Playboy together.

I am following the rules DAMN IT.

But my breasts are not happy. They hurt. They have giant pointy nipples. Nipples that are like six inches long. That are hard twenty four hours a day like some sort of porn star science project. My nipples are red and angry little laser beams of death. And the breasts are sore of lopsided looking and just pissed off.

Why are they betraying me this way? WHY GOD WHY?!?!

I don't know what to do. Really, no idea. There is no way in the world that I am icing them. Heat really doesn't help. Ibuprofen does not touch it. I really don't want to call the doctor for boob pain but I will if they do not straighten up and fly right young ladies.

Last night Buster lightly brushed one with his paw. Something that has happened approximately 84,000 times before since Buster does not respect personal space AT ALL.

This time was different. Because I cried.

That is ridiculous. But it just hurt so much.

Is cutting them off a real option? I mean would I bleed to death? Could it be done with a kitchen knife? I know J would not be happy but he is contractually stuck with me so he can shut it. Also, he would probably be relieved that I had stopped whining.

At least about this.

7:35 a.m. :: comment ::
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