Lately I've realized my medium (my sister said i better change this to
"large" to be honest) sized breasts are bouncing too
much. The obvious answer is to get a new bra that fits better and
provides more control, duh. This just doesn't seem to work. So I
just walk around with notebooks in front of my chest trying to
avoid the eyes of people staring at my breasts going
up and down.
I'm 26 and this is the first time I've ever noticed it. This
seems worse than the time my sister told my mother (while we were
in line at the public library) that I had to get a bra because my
little breasts were moving around too much in my pink copycat
Izod shirt that had a little strawberry where the alligator
should have been. How could I have been so unaware and then
suddenly obsessed with this motion? It started a month ago when I
was on the subway with a friend who asked me what was going on
with my breasts, why were they moving so much? I had always
believed I had those strong boobs left over from the 1950s that
never, ever moved.
Now I have become hyperaware. I feel like my utterly compulsive
breasts are out of control. My predicament reminds me of this
short story I read about a secretary whose breasts suddenly start
beating up men who stare at them. At first it was great for her,
but later it just seemed so out of control. She couldn't get
those large breasts of hers to stop pummeling the faces of the
men around her.
I am not really complaining--I really appreciate my breasts and
feel they are the perfect size for my figure and they used to
behave in less annoying manner, but they just can't seem to stop
moving around. I asked my sisters who have smaller breasts and
they said maybe I should start wearing two sports bras.
Just the other day a man on the street cupped his two hands, and
began to quickly move them up and down to mimic the movements of
my breasts while saying something in Italian to me. Of course I
was pissed off at his grotesque and totally inappropriate
behavior, but also curious as to why he chose to point this out to
me. Did he think I was unaware of my own kinetic energy?
After sharing my breast problem, someone suggested that I could
buy those large, slightly padded push-upish bras like the ones
from the 1950s that are still being sold at the National
Wholesale Liquidators in my neighborhood. Now my breasts just sit
up there silently on my chest. No sass, no acting out. Sometimes
boob problems have a simple solution.
