Boobs! Big ones! We’re all obsessed with them. Men are obsessed, women are obsessed. Infant children are – understandably – obsessed.
But, if you’re like me and not lugging around a gargantuan pair of funbags everywhere you go, you should learn to love your small to midsize rack.
They’re only really there for one reason anyway – feeding sprogs – so what do you actually want great massive udders for anyway?
1. I have a friend with an absolutely cracking set of breasts. There are perfect orbs of outstanding natural beauty. (The National Trust has been making enquiries.) She has, however, been on the receiving end of some pretty ungentlemanly behaviour. I don’t know about you, but having a stranger yell, ‘OI! TITS!’ across a busy street is not what I’d call top fun.
2. Smaller boobs mean fewer underwear malfunctions. While my breasty peers struggle into complicated three-way bras or just avoid backless dresses like the plague, we lesser-breasted folk can go wild and free with no fear of rogue mammaries making an unscheduled apearance.
3. Try stuffing your DDs into a flimsy white T-shirt and your parents/headteacher/HR manager will be on you like a rat on a Wotsit, bandying around words like ‘inappropriate’ and ‘distracting’. It’s ridiculous and unfair, I know. Meanwhile, members of the Itty Bitty Titty Committee and I are flying under the radar in titchy little vests. It’s hard to look inappropriate when you’re built like an ironing board, after all.
4. Sure, she may be the centre of attention every time you go for drinks, but when was the last time your mate with the FF cups came home from the Marks & Spencer January sale with a bra for £1.50? Never, that’s when. Enjoy spending half your salary in Bravissimmo.
5. A well-endowed friend recently spent £50 on a swimming costume because it was the only one that would contain her epic breasts and keep them from bursting out like a pair of colossal ping-pong balls in geyser country. After all, nobody wants to be smacked in the face with their own boobs when they’re trying to perfect their butterfly stroke. But…fifty quid. FIFTY QUID. That’s like the GDP of Greece right now.
6. I wear a sports bra when I do cardio because, well, everyone should. It’s not good for that tissue to be jiggling around like blancmange. If I forget, though, it’s OK, I can manage. Not so for the more generously proportioned; while busty ladies can barely run for the bus without feeling some serious wibble, my flat-chested peers and I can do the entire dance from Shake It Off in the buff, no problem.
7. Ever had a bloke try to motorboat you? Me neither, but it sounds crap.
8. As a B-cup, it’s nice knowing I can go about my business unmolested by the gruesome prospect of Quadboob. Nobody knows from whence he came, but he can transform even the most magnificent of racks into a big, fleshy four-pack of hot cross buns.
9. See also: Back rolls.
10. You know what happens when I jump up and down with no clothes on? Nothing. When I remove my bra my chest barely moves a half inch, which means that although I’ll never be a glamour model without radical surgery, I am a stretch-mark free zone.
11. Lesser-breasted creatures don’t get as much sagging over time, either; gravity pays less attention to smaller masses, you see. (THAT’S SCIENCE. Ish.) They think they’re having a great time now, but all those buxom mates of yours will be playing keepy-uppy with their boobs by the time they’re forty. Just look forward to that.
