Over the shoulder boulder holder

9 Sep

My tits are huge.

This is a boast, a lament and a fact.

I suppose I’m fortunate in the usual ways. My face is pretty ridiculous looking but I do have these bangin’ TaTa’s which just goes to show that when god shuts a door he opens a window. I’m also reasonable sure they’ve gotten me in the door with the majority of boys I’ve wanted to date. Women express envy and men astonishment. Usually the men do this through the open window of their cars as they drive by. Gay men on the other hand will just cut to the chase and bury their faces in my cleavage claiming to have come to their “happy place”. I still don’t know why that happens.

Of course I can’t buy a single fucking cute top. Anything with spaghetti straps is right out. Once you hit a certain cup size that shit just looks trashy. Then there is the minefield of womens sizes. I may wear a medium in the middle, even a small but to wedge my funbags in there comfortably I’ll need an XXL. I once tried on a dress in Chinatown. I squirmed into it and stood in front of the mirror and tried to breathe. After a few minutes of careful consideration and growing concern over the rising sound of rending threads I decided it just wasn’t for me. In the process of trying to get the thing off it got wedged over my head, caught on my large immovable breasts. Stuck in a Quipo in the dingy back room of the China Bazaar I panicked and was about to call my waiting friend in to get a bottle of baby oil and get me out of the thing when in a last fit of desperation I tore open the side zipper and escaped.

I don’t really remember the act in which I was birthed but I think fighting free of that dress was probably exactly what it was like. The sweating agony and striving attempt, then the confusion after the light hit my eyes. There may have been crying.

Then there was prom.

Oh, Prom.

I’d made the mistake of borrowing a dress from a friend of mine with a larger ribcage yet smaller breasts. It was beautiful. A strapless gown, all gold with velvet floral details. It was a little loose in the top but I figured as long as I didn’t exhale.

I was not fine. I forgot myself halfway through an enthusiastic dance to Sisquos “Thong Song” and at about the end of the lyric “Dumps like a truck, truck, truck.” I threw my arms behind my back whereupon both my badly concealed titties exploded into the face of my date (who was also my best friends brother) like a car’s airbag in a head on collision.

They talked about me in debate class that day. The rest of my classmates arguing that it did happen, Myself taking the position that no, it did not.

Trying on clothes though has never, ever been as harrowing as bras. Oh, it was easy enough in the dawning days of puberty, cute little floral numbers bought easily at Target. 34 B cups can be bought in any number of styles. But my bad mamajamas just…didn’t…stop…growing.

The choices available to a woman after she surpasses a certain size go way the hell down. After you hit about a D your options become beige, black, white, Fatty McBackfat, old lady and “We’re sorry genetics had dealt you this card.”

As I’ve gotten older I’ve come to terms with the fact that my lingerie will no longer be cute but merely utilitarian. Or at the very least fasten securely in the back.

I turned twenty-six this year wearing a racerback sorry affair of a push up. The left tit popped out at random moments and the whole thing would ride up midway over my rack over the course of an hour. The straps showed in an unfortunate Erin Brockovich kind of way.

I was yanking the band down with one hand and eating a sandwich with the other in my parents New Orleans kitchen where my boyfriend and I vacationed for my birthday. My mother sat on the stool opposite me at the granite island and watched me attempt to punch one boob up into place and catch a falling glob of olive salad with the corner of my mouth at the same time. An olive escaped and bounced off my cleavage and onto the floor.

“You know, How about for your birthday we go shopping? Just the two of us. For new bras. Bras that are nothing like that one.”  My mother said and pointed at one twisted, exposed strap.

“Why?” I asked. Mouth full of sandwich, my eyes wide and appalled. “Is it bad-looking?”

“I think we can do better.” She said with a a small smile that is usually used on children who need to be told that paste is not a food group.

We drove to the near by Dillards department store in the wet August heat and entered into the frigid blast of  air conditioning. Into the ladies intimates we sojourned, that frilly ostentatious wonderland.

The womens unmentionables are clearly divided into three layers. In the front is what I like to call the princess canopy. This is where women that wear a 4 dress size can shop. Their honkers have remained in the realm of the reasonable. The undergarments of the Canopy are brightly colored birds resting on the racks branches. The Bras here serve function as well as display. Every thing is very lacy, very cute, very elegant. Brightness, lightness and air.

These garments are for women who don’t have titties that hang with the weight of a punishing albatross. Thus, being attractive, the Princess canopy lures big busted women in on false premise. You start out in this canopy level and push your way steadily deeper. Looking for something super cute that will fit and finding nothing you come to the second level, which I like to refer to as the Realistic Understory. This is where your fashionable dreams begin their slow choking death. There are less cute patterns here and less lace to match the increasing cup size.  This is also when you begin to realize the facts. You can’t wear any of that sexy shit! You need a fucking underwire!

Not finding anything in the Realistic Understory you go deeper. Deeper, to the Lycra Forest Floor. The product no longer lies to you and you have come to terms with the way things are.

In the very back against the wall the tags all read EE 36 and nowhere do you see the word “SEXY!” Because now you aren’t looking for “SEXY!” you are looking for “SUPPORT!”. On the forest floor the garments are tacked to the wall and most of them have stopped being just bras but full on leotards. Nay! wetsuits!

It’s to the forest floor my mother and I automatically head. We are too old for the transparent temptations of the other layers.

I mosy through the racks.

My mother asks: “Do you want to get fitted?”

“I don’t know that this will end in anything other than tears if I don’t.” I say.

She finds a saleswoman before I do. I came around the corner of a display of Spanks just in time to hear my Mother say, “…about a C…or maybe a D?” to a young sardonic woman with long brown hair in a paisley dress.

“And there she is!” Said my Mother.

The woman took me in at a glance.

“This is your daughter?”


“She is not a C. She is only maybe a D with full coverage and even then I doubt it.” Said the clerk dryly.

I looked down at my lady lumps.

“Ok, then, If you would just step this way.” The clerk held out an arm and ushered me into the fluorescent lighting of the dressing room. Once inside a stall the clerk appraised my chest.

“Ok. If you wouldn’t mind taking off your tank top so I can get a look at what you are wearing now.”

So I did. I took my shirt off and let this lady down. She immediately let me know that I was fucking up.

“Ok.” She said with some of the most intense disapproval I have ever heard in a sales persons voice. She slid two fingers under the band of my bra. “The band is not the right size, you are falling out of the left side and…” Her voice curdled. “…There is a safety pin in the strap.

I wilted and offered my best “aw, shucks” expression.

“You need to throw that bra in the trash.” She said decisively. “Now. What exactly are you looking for?”

I explained that all I wanted in life was a bra that kept my boobs up high, held them in place but did not mash them down and didn’t squeeze my back fat into what looked like lumps of kneaded dough. The clerk flourished a measuring tape and began her work.

She brought thirty four bras into that dressing room and according to her all of them unacceptable failures.

She’d wrench and adjust, Yank the straps into place. She used words that I did not know applied to underwear. Words like “tacking” and “spillage”.

“The front is not tacking correctly and I’m seeing more spillage than I’d like… Take your two fingers and smooth down the breast tissue.”

I never quite understood why she kept asking me to “smooth” my “breast tissue” because no matter how long I’d tried treating the lumps in my fat bits like cake frosting to be smoothed it never worked out that way. I told the clerk that but she didn’t think it was funny. That woman had but one mission in life and it was to find the one bra in the store that didn’t make my boobs look fucked up. She didn’t have time for jokes.

By the time I tried on the 56th bra my saleswoman was spent. She told me to “hang on a second” and left with no further explanation.

After ten minutes a slim blond woman in her forties came in with my clerk in tow. I was introduced to the new person as Mary Anne, one of the direct buyers for a particular brand of brassiere.

It was going to take two women to find something that would fit. And one of those women had direct knowledge of ThermoBra Dynamics.

I was officially a hard case.

At that point I pretty much stopped existing. My Jub Jub Birds were the only thing at stake here and bore intense scrutiny.

“That left breast is a little larger than the right and that’s what I’m having trouble with.” Said my clerk.

“Ah, yes. That can be a problem with fit. You can match one or the other but not both. You have to make a decision about which will be the most flattering and go with it.” Said Mary Anne to my other clerk.

“Like Sophie’s Choice?” I asked.

“Now the Merveilleux line is what I’m having the best luck with.” The clerk ignored me and held up a beige number she had had less trouble squeezing me into.

Everything after that is a blur. I tried on another fifty bras and was asked a few more questions but the saleswomen spoke in terms I had thought were exclusively the purview of civil engineers.

“She’ll need a steel rebar underwire or the top will continue to be unstable.”

“Kevlar cups…”

“The weight will have to be evenly distributed through the left and right quadrants.”

eventually we had a breakthrough.

“How does that feel?”

I turned from side to side as the clerks looked on in approval. I did the shimmy I’d been taught. Arms over the head then bend at the waist and shake around from side to side. Great success. My boobs were high up on my chest and going no where.

“I’m still not happy with the left breast being larger…” the first clerk started.

“I’m not happy with my deformity either but somehow I’ll just have to find the beauty with in myself.” I said. My arms were sore from bending them back to reach the bra snaps a thousand times.

Also I was tired of hearing about my mutant tit.

I bought two bras and a bustier complete with something called Comfy Cups which are two separate bra cups. What you do is bend over and plop your boobs into them one at a time and then insert into the bustier to smooth out uneven seams.

Plop! Plop! Like a grapefruit half into a bowl.

I wore one of the bras out and emerged from the dressing room holding aloft the damaged unacceptable bra I had worn into the store.

“Madame!” I said to my no-nonsense clerk who was just taking my mothers credit card. “A receptacle if you please!”

She brandished a trash can and I jumped, shot and scored the shitty ill fitting bra right in.

My mother and I left the Dilliards. As we climbed back into her ancient black Mustang she remarked, “You know, we should really have those two ladies fixing the BP spill. They seem to have the knowledge of engineering and the resolve to get a job done and get it done right.”

“Well, they fixed my spill.” I poked a boob. Encased in its new shell it didn’t even jiggle.

My mother laughed and looked at my bosom. “My god, Leia. Women pay money for those. Did they ask you if they were fake?”

“No, mom. I think that’s in the sales handbook. ‘Don’t ask ladies if their funbags are enhanced.'”

“Good point. So…” she angled her eyes downward. “exactly what size are you now?”

I buckled the seatbelt across my ample rack.

“34 F.”

My mother almost swerved into oncoming traffic.



31 Responses to “Over the shoulder boulder holder”

  1. brigidkeely September 9, 2010 at 12:54 am #

    “I think we can do better.”


    The only times I’ve been measured for a bra have been fat lady stores, and they always say I’m like a 468FFF which is utterly ridic, because… I… am not. I could fit both my tits in a D cup. I’m that rare species of super fat woman that has little titties. The large band/small cup bra is hard to find in the wild, and apparently leads to poor measuring.

    Apparently I need to head to a high end department store to get my goodies properly wrangled.

  2. Stevie September 9, 2010 at 1:59 am #

    Girl, I kind of know your pain. I’m between a 32D and a 32DD, causing the poor girls at Victoria’s Secret great pain. I’ve had doctors ask if my boobs were fake. And shirts? Oh lord. I have a little tiny waist so when I put on T-shirts the bottom of it drapes and the chest area is extremely tight. Thank god my mom is a seamstress otherwise I’d never find a decent dress.

    So yeah, I have an idea of what you’re talking about in this entry.

  3. floatingchocolatecheesepuff September 9, 2010 at 3:07 am #

    Yeah I feel your pain… especially about the left tit. Although I hear it’s good luck if it’s the left. Mine tend to change size with every visit to Vickie’s secret. Look at the bright side though, they make for great floatation devices!

    • ahappygoluckyscamp September 11, 2010 at 8:53 pm #

      Man, what is going ON inside the boob that they change so much? I can’t afford this shit every other month.

  4. Rendigo September 9, 2010 at 5:27 am #

    I literally had my first bra fitting on Monday. How. How did you read my mind. I’m no 34 F but finding out i’m a D cup is enough of a mindfuck for one shopping trip. All the same, I have never before experienced the joy of owning a bra that Actually Fits. It’s fuckin’ aces.

    • ahappygoluckyscamp September 11, 2010 at 9:03 pm #

      Haha! Nothing like working your way to the lower end of the alphabet….

      A couple more years and I’ll be making my own bras from trash bags and making the underwires from woven tree branches.

  5. Wood September 9, 2010 at 8:55 am #

    Did you make a list of euphemistic phrases for your boobs before you wrote that note, to make sure you didn’t use the same one twice ?

    Also, I don’t think those ladies need to ask to know if boobs are real or fake. In that line of work, they probably can tell at first glance.

    • ahappygoluckyscamp September 11, 2010 at 9:04 pm #

      I just think about boobs all day. I’ve gotten pretty good.

      And good point about them being able to tell.

  6. Erika Moen September 11, 2010 at 7:26 pm #

    Oh my god, Matt was reading this to me while I was recovering in bed from my eye surgery and I couldn’t stop laughing!

    I love you.

    • ahappygoluckyscamp September 11, 2010 at 9:07 pm #

      What the fuck happened to your eye?

      (also thank you for tweeting my post! I wouldn’t be popular unless you told the other kids to come sit at my lunch table.)

      • Erika Moen September 14, 2010 at 4:43 am #

        Haha, oh come on, we all know everyone naturally loves you ‘cos you’re easy 😉

        It was elective surgery, don’t worry! I got Lasik done (which I am COMPLETELY IN LOVE WITH, by the way) and I had to sit in bed with my eyes closed and ridiculous dark goggles on for a day, so Matt was being nice and reading to me. I wasn’t supposed to do anything to scrunch my eyes, but damnit you kept making me laugh! It was worth it.

  7. Lezley Davidson September 11, 2010 at 7:42 pm #

    This is the most awesome I’ve ever had over bra shopping. EVER.
    Thank yeeeew.

  8. RealityMonster September 11, 2010 at 7:57 pm #

    My partner is a 32E, and one of my best friends is a 30F. You can find good bras in your size, but you have to look for really European brands, and they’re not cheap.

    Oh, wait, are you using the crazy American sizing that makes no sense? D->DD->E->F? That would make it harder.

    In any case, brands like Aubade carry from a 34-40E (DD), and if I remember right, there’s at least one British brand that is meant specifically for women with large boobs but normal sized rib cages. You may be cursed to buy high-end, expensive bras for the rest of your life, but if you do it right, you’ll always have the nicest lingerie in the room. 🙂

    Your story was great. It’s awesome that you found some people willing to help. My partner walked into a store and they refused to believe that she was a 32E (she’s been fitted a lot) until their attempts to cram her into something smaller all failed miserably.

    • ahappygoluckyscamp September 11, 2010 at 9:17 pm #

      See, this is why I like to buy from stores in the south. In California they don’t like to sell anything over a size 6.

      In New Orleans the stores the sizes tend to be broader.

  9. Lisa September 11, 2010 at 8:09 pm #

    Apparently we all have mutant breasts, just like men’s balls, one is always larger than the other. You’d think by now that bra technology would have somehow managed to account for this.

    • ahappygoluckyscamp September 11, 2010 at 9:19 pm #

      I will feel like the sexes are equal when dudes have to figure out whether full coverage or a demi-cup is the most flattering sillouette.

  10. blue_cat September 11, 2010 at 8:37 pm #

    Wonderful post 🙂 Thank you. I have *cough* quite large girls and it can be a real struggle sometimes! UK is getting better on the ‘cute’ front for G & GG sizes thankfully!

    • ahappygoluckyscamp September 11, 2010 at 9:18 pm #

      Right? All we want is something that doesn’t make out jubblies look like a badly done birthday cake. All lopsided and droopin’.

      • ahappygoluckyscamp September 11, 2010 at 9:20 pm #

        On their balls. I forgot to add that comment is about their balls.

  11. Leila September 11, 2010 at 9:12 pm #

    I can TOTALLY relate to this! I have found a lot of success with Wacoal as a brand, and fortunately they don’t look like they’re meant to be covering Mount Everest.

  12. Rachael September 11, 2010 at 9:32 pm #

    Found my way here through twitter via Erica. I’m another coming over to say I fully feel ya on lack of cute and trying on 80 million bras to find The One. No one really expects a five foot two woman to be touting around what could be 30E’s to 30F’s for her chest size. I’m thinking of getting a bustier again unless Nordstrom really does have a strapless that will actually give me the support I demand. They’re so much more comfy for the shoulders and back!

    Shameless plug – http://community.livejournal.com/thirty_twod/profile It’s a Livejournal group for women always on the hunt for not only great bras, but deals and potentially sexy/cute ones too :). My mind went straight to sharing them after reading your story. Lord knows they helped me a ton when I did the “I’m HOW big and tiny??!”

  13. Boum September 11, 2010 at 9:48 pm #

    That was the best read I’ve had in quite some time, and not just because I can totally relate. I’m a 32F but I lost a lot of weight, and my first real bra fitting was before my sudden weight loss—I was a 36H. Now THAT was hard to squeeze into bras.

    I ended up finding out that French bras, albeit usually expensive (at least 50$ a boob), are sexy and have support but come in bigger, weirder sizes for us mutant girls who have never asked for such racks.

    But seriously, your use of words is clever, varied and amusing. 😀

  14. Abyss September 11, 2010 at 10:57 pm #

    My last roommate of 6 months had similar trouble finding a good bra, but eventually found a couple stores that sold what she was looking for. She’d often wash them by hand in the bathtub or sink, and then hang them over the shower curtain rod to dry.

    There was one day that I stepped into our quaint washroom and discovered an array of brassieres on display above the bathtub. Alas, I had to move them–I wanted to shower. In the end I decided it was best to just slide them off to one end of the rod. So I did.

    I took my shower [it was lovely] and went to grab my towel, which was hung on the wall-hook right beside the bras, and I caught a glimpse of one of the tags:


    …What? I didn’t even know such a thing existed. Damn.

    [Also I have to say that this read was terribly amusing–your writing style is absolutely fantastic.]

  15. Clare September 11, 2010 at 11:10 pm #

    Thank you for giving me a good (albeit rueful) chuckle. I feel your pain. Trying to buy bras in sizes larger than a D cup can be pretty soul destroying. Fortunately in the UK we’re blessed with the wonder that it is Bravissimo (www.bravissimo.com) . It’s a little bit pricey but so worth it. It might be worth a look as I think they deliver to the States and have a free returns policy. Some of the departments stores over here have also begun to catch on. Even Marks & Spencers which normally specialises in ‘mum’ clothes have a half decent range. Hopefully the same will happen in the States too.

  16. Daniella Orihuela-Gruber September 11, 2010 at 11:30 pm #

    What an extremely amusing blog post! I enjoyed it a lot and so did my boyfriend as I read it aloud to him.

    I don’t quite share your size woes, but I also recently had a fitting (not quite as amusing and long) and boy did it work wonders.I went up two cup sizes! I was so happy to be a D-cup! I never knew I could be so big! My boyfriend wouldn’t stop teasing me about being so happy.

    Sadly, no matter what I do, my one mutant tit remains an awkward fit. I’m not sure what cup size it is, but it’s definitely 2-3 cup sizes smaller than my left breast. It’s made me realize that pretty much every woman has a mutant tit unless they’re in porn.

    Thank you for sharing these stories. They were a great read!

  17. Liz September 12, 2010 at 3:23 am #

    I totally feel your pain. Right now I’m wearing a 38DD bra, and while the band seems to fit well enough, the cup for sure isn’t quite right, but it’s the best bra I’ve found so far.

    Whenever I go to get measured, they always put me at around a 40-42C, which is NOT right. The band hangs off horribly, and the cups look atrocious on me. I have a very odd, square frame that will more than likely just need a custom bra.

    The only place I’ve managed to find that sell bras with potential for me are places like Layne Bryant (or however it’s spelled, and they are $$$$$$$

    So thank you for the laugh. It’s nice to finally hear of someone with a similar problem who can put some humor into it instead of whine about breast reductions. ❤

  18. Fig September 12, 2010 at 5:52 am #

    This was a tale hilariously told! Brava. You’ve done a good job of walking the fine wire of being truthfully rueful while keeping bitterness from overpowering the humor. (I hope this doesn’t make me sound snobbish or anything, I’m just trying to put my finger on why I enjoyed reading this so much.)

    Bra shopping for me is also a pain, but for the opposite reason: most places I check, 32A bras are in short supply, and even then, they’re often ill-fitting. I would 100% let my jub-jub birds (my favorite of your euphemisms) fly free if it weren’t for the unfortunate headlights problem…

  19. Angryangeltoo September 12, 2010 at 4:17 pm #

    Blue Cat showed me this post, thank you. I am now a 40D, it’s not so much the D bit that is the issue but the 40 inch bit as most Bras in the UK stop at 38 inches. Like you I have grown and grown and show no signs of stopping. I started out as an normal 34B as a teen.

    I use Bravissimo a lot and I have to say I think they are fantastic, practical and pretty and their shirts are good when it comes to not gapeing.


    They do ship to the US but I am aware this would cost you a small fortune.
    I don’t have the problem of one boob being slightly smaller, but my female friends that do use a silicone cushion type thing to make the bra fit more comfortably. We call them “Chicken fillets” here in the UK.
    I think Victoria’s Secret do similar. They are designed to be worn outside between the boob and the bra cup, in theory filling the bra cup of the boob that is a bit smaller.
    Thanks again for the fantastic post 😀

  20. smarmodon September 12, 2010 at 6:54 pm #

    As a fellow large-tata’ed woman, I commiserate. It is very, very hard finding sexy bras as a larger-chested woman, let alone affordable ones. 160 bucks at Nordstrom’s for 2 “acceptable” bras and a year later the underwire is bent out of shape and the lace is torn :/ At least I found a few with lace.

  21. Paige September 27, 2010 at 6:17 am #

    As a fellow bearer of the title Tits McGee, I feel your pain.

  22. Lea Hernandez December 19, 2010 at 12:38 pm #

    I got fitted for the first time in my whole life in October. I have freaking enormous boobs. I was looking at my bra when I had it off and decided to see if it would fit on my head.
    It did. *With room left over.*
    It’s official: tits bigger than head.

    I have been having the best time catching up on your entries. No euphemism for your boobs has topped “pants hamster,” but I think you’ll get there.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: