(no subject)
[Locked to Sam]
It's one of those days when I almost wish this on you.
At any rate, the list thing isn't working for me today, because there's a specific 'symptom' (I hate that they call it 'symptoms', as if I've got a cold and not, you know, a blob) that's driving me up a fucking wall.
I no longer own a single bra that fits. Not one. And the worst part of it is, for the first time in my life I feel like I genuinely need to wear a bra, and yet I have none that fit. So many things I read about I was convinced would happen to other people, and this is one of them. "Buy good, supportive bras" the books and the websites say. I laughed when I read that, because for all that they've been sore for a few weeks, they've never required any support to stay up. It's maybe the only good thing about having small breasts. (That and what I'm told is increased sensitivity, but never having had large breasts, I have very little to compare the sensitivity of my breasts to. At any rate, I wish they were a bit less sensitive, because Jesus I'm tired of feeling as though I need to protect them.)
Now they're sore when I wake up and by lunchtime they feel like they're trying to pull themselves free from my chest. It's an incredibly odd sensation, and I can't help but look at women like Carol, who (I'm sure you've noticed) actually has, you know, a decent rack and wonder if this is what it feels like to live in her body. I mean, is this really how most women go through life? With all this added weight attached to their chests, straining their backs? I don't expect you to actually, you know, have an answer, I'm just saying. Lately small breasts don't seem like a bad thing at all.
And that's the other thing-- My breasts have been small my entire life. I got teased in high school about it, and I'm no longer too proud to admit that I stuffed my bra on more than one occasion. They've never been my best asset, but they're, you know, I've never given more than a few seconds thought to the idea of having them done, either. What I'm saying is, small or not, my breasts and I have had a pretty good relationship since I got out of high school. We've had an understanding, a relationship built on mutual respect. That relationship is gone now, as they insist on spilling out of the satin and lace they once fit very nicely inside of.
I've given Blob control over my stomach, my bladder, and my tear ducts. I will allow it to take over my waistline in a few months (and the affection my waist and I feel for one another is a subject for another day). I thought that would be enough. Clearly I miscalculated the greediness of your son or daughter, because my breasts are now being controlled by something that's no larger than a pea.
If I had allowed myself to believe what they said about my breasts, I might already own a bra or two that fit, but there's no way it could have prepared me for the fact that I feel incredibly self-concious about my ever-swelling chest. I want to hide in baggy sweaters and drawstring pants. I want to be sure and button my shirts a bit more than I used to, because there's no reason to give my interns a show. I've lost weight, and even though I refuse to step on a scale until Monday, I'm pretty sure I continue to lose weight. Someone forgot to send the memo to my tits.
I love you, and I hope your day is relatively free of swelling n your chest cavity. Or something.
[/Flock]
It's one of those days when I almost wish this on you.
At any rate, the list thing isn't working for me today, because there's a specific 'symptom' (I hate that they call it 'symptoms', as if I've got a cold and not, you know, a blob) that's driving me up a fucking wall.
I no longer own a single bra that fits. Not one. And the worst part of it is, for the first time in my life I feel like I genuinely need to wear a bra, and yet I have none that fit. So many things I read about I was convinced would happen to other people, and this is one of them. "Buy good, supportive bras" the books and the websites say. I laughed when I read that, because for all that they've been sore for a few weeks, they've never required any support to stay up. It's maybe the only good thing about having small breasts. (That and what I'm told is increased sensitivity, but never having had large breasts, I have very little to compare the sensitivity of my breasts to. At any rate, I wish they were a bit less sensitive, because Jesus I'm tired of feeling as though I need to protect them.)
Now they're sore when I wake up and by lunchtime they feel like they're trying to pull themselves free from my chest. It's an incredibly odd sensation, and I can't help but look at women like Carol, who (I'm sure you've noticed) actually has, you know, a decent rack and wonder if this is what it feels like to live in her body. I mean, is this really how most women go through life? With all this added weight attached to their chests, straining their backs? I don't expect you to actually, you know, have an answer, I'm just saying. Lately small breasts don't seem like a bad thing at all.
And that's the other thing-- My breasts have been small my entire life. I got teased in high school about it, and I'm no longer too proud to admit that I stuffed my bra on more than one occasion. They've never been my best asset, but they're, you know, I've never given more than a few seconds thought to the idea of having them done, either. What I'm saying is, small or not, my breasts and I have had a pretty good relationship since I got out of high school. We've had an understanding, a relationship built on mutual respect. That relationship is gone now, as they insist on spilling out of the satin and lace they once fit very nicely inside of.
I've given Blob control over my stomach, my bladder, and my tear ducts. I will allow it to take over my waistline in a few months (and the affection my waist and I feel for one another is a subject for another day). I thought that would be enough. Clearly I miscalculated the greediness of your son or daughter, because my breasts are now being controlled by something that's no larger than a pea.
If I had allowed myself to believe what they said about my breasts, I might already own a bra or two that fit, but there's no way it could have prepared me for the fact that I feel incredibly self-concious about my ever-swelling chest. I want to hide in baggy sweaters and drawstring pants. I want to be sure and button my shirts a bit more than I used to, because there's no reason to give my interns a show. I've lost weight, and even though I refuse to step on a scale until Monday, I'm pretty sure I continue to lose weight. Someone forgot to send the memo to my tits.
I love you, and I hope your day is relatively free of swelling n your chest cavity. Or something.
[/Flock]