Goddammit. Another day another underwire popping out of a ridiculously expensive bra! Urgh… bra shopping is one of the most horrid chores on the planet, something to be avoided with the same fervour that is usually reserved for tax returns, dental appointments, christmas dinners and rectal exams. It’s probably not a universal experience, and I am sure some women love shopping for pretty unmentionables, but if you’ve been blessed/cursed with a rather generous bust, then chances are you know what I am talking about. So many pretty designs and colours everywhere… but if you’re busty, don’t even bother looking – you’re just setting yourself up for disappointment.

Bra manufacturers never make the pretties in indecent sizes. Having a bigger than usual bust, means you have two options when bra shopping: 1) go to the boutique lingerie stores and fork out somewhere between $130 and $200 per undergarment or 2) march yourself over to a department store and chose something out of their heavily engineered, load bearing and/or bullet proof range. If you’re lucky enough, you can find something in the boutique and then jump online and try to find it at a more reasonable price, but there’s no such thing as walking into a regular Bras ‘n’ Things and finding a dozen lovely options in your size once you get over a D cup.

Boobs are one of those things that can sort of ending up affecting your entire life. It’s something that those of modest bust proportions will probably never understand… no matter how often we tell them their jealousy towards their well endowed sisters is soo misplaced. You wouldn’t think that something as innocuous as boobs could be quite so troublesome? But aside from bra shopping, there are a plethora of trials and tribulations that come with being blessed/cursed with big tits.

The most obvious of these, is refining the knack of getting men (and some women) to talk
directly to your face, should you have the poor judgement to be wearing anything other than a turtleneck sweater. Yes, so prolific is this phenomena, I have evidenced it from doctors, policemen, my husband’s mates, work colleagues, fellow students, complete strangers at shops or at restaurants, or at church. Why I’ve even found myself being inappropriately ogled at a funeral… and that whole thing started back when I was about 14!  Get a grip guys – they’re just tits!

Then there’s the difficulty of finding clothes that fit – especially blouses that will actually do up without gaping but don’t leave you looking like you’ve left your waist behind at the checkout counter. Or buying a dress… OMG trying to buy a dress if your top size is
bigger than your bottom size. Forget it, you will eventually end up taking home something that needs drastic alterations or something that fits you on top but not around your butt, or fits your butt and your tits are spilling out all over the place. And while on the topic of difficult to fit clothing – ever needed to borrow and item or warmth or last minute item of
clothing? Impossible! Only things I can ever borrow in a pinch, are my husbands sloppy jumpers. Sigh…

Then there’s the exercise thing. Even if it weren’t for my bad back, I used to have trouble running, jumping and climbing trees… just all that jiggling about gets so painful after a bit. No wonder I used to enjoy scuba diving (though finding a wet suit that fit was always problematic), and swimming over running of any kind.  Even sitting on a plane when it hits turbulence, or being in a carpark going over the speed bumps can cause you to grab the
girls and hang on… reminds me of an old Nissan advertisement which was designed to
tout their ‘superior’ suspension.
Speaking of cars… does anyone else find themselves being utterly strangled by the seat
belt as it constantly slides up over your bust instead of staying politely where it should? I hate that. And for some reason it always seems worse in larger cars – Falcons, Commodores etc – must be something to do with bad seat belt placement, but
you’re either trying to push the damn thing under you boobs or it’s doing an awesome job of cutting into your neck and/or windpipe! Urgh. In fact most shoulder straps and things designed to go from shoulder to wait tend to b a pain in the arse – including roller coaster safety harnesses!

Oh, and laying down on my stomach. How I miss that! I used to be a stomach sleeper when I was young – can barely remember it to be honest. But, and I understand if there is considerable incredulity to this given my habitual pallor, I also used to be a beach bunny type who was constantly on the sand worshiping the sun… so I must have been able to lay comfortably on my stomach at some point. Not so anymore, I can tell you for certain. I can’t even get comfortable on a massage table without some towels or something to prop up my shoulders. An hour of ‘relaxing’ massage can turn into an hour of squished boob torture pretty rapidly without some creative support!

Then there’s this awesome weirdness where you boobs seem to get in the way – all the fucking time. Knocking over glasses on a dining table when reaching for something. Accidentally getting them wet and sticky because you’re unintentionally leaning on a bar. Trying to paint your toenails. Hugging your knees to your chest – impossible! Downward facing dog at yoga – likely to cause immediate asphyxiation. Brushing up against strangers when they try to get past you on escalators, in shopping centres, at rock concerts or in elevators. Your concept of personal space takes on a whole new dimension when complete strangers frequently elbow you in the tit. And then there’s the awesome way you
seem to catch crumbs of food in your cleavage every time you dine, which subsequently causes you to indecorously fish the uncomfortable little fuckers out before they make themselves at home beneath your underwire and end up as annoying as a pebble in
your shoe for the rest of your day – the busty aren’t clumsier at table than anyone else, they just don’t get to politely brush these things off their laps is all!

So yeah… boobs.  Whether we think we are too small or too big, most of us have a love/hate relationships with them. Personally for all the pains in the neck (literally) that being busty causes me, I wouldn’t swap them to join the Itty Bitty Titty Committee… Lord knows I need them to distract from the size of my ass!

*Who knew once I started hunting for a cute picture to accompany
my rant about how annoying boobs can be, thatI’d find not one,
not two, but an entire comic series dedicated to the shared woes of
Busty Girls the world over. Some of these are just fabulous and you can find
more at – Busty Girl Comics by Paige “Rampaige” Halsey Warren. Love ’em!