During the pub crawl on Saturday, my sister revealed to me that my mom had asked her if she thought I needed a breast reduction. I'm not entirely sure why she didn't ask me herself. But that's mom, I guess. I've had the conversation plenty of times with a number of people.
It's no secret that I have bodacious ta-tas. I'm not going to lie. The thought has crossed my mind more than a couple times -- usually when I try on a button-down shirt or when I'm on the elliptical machine at the gym and my pecs are sore from trying to keep the fun bags from flying all over the place when my Multi-Bra Boob Control System isn't doing it's job.
Yes, I have back problems. However, I'm not sure they're related to the size of my dirty pillows. My jugs did not cause me to slip on the ice outside The Cheating Asshole's garage which led to my herniated disc. Besides, since I've been pretty religious about going to the gym, I can't remember the last time my back even bothered me.
And yes, there's the aforementioned inability to wear button-down shirts. That does kind of suck. Finding shirts that fit over the hooters yet don't leave me looking like I'm wearing a tent is a challenge. But I've learned to buy multiples of shirts that work for me.
The aforementioned difficulties at the gym would probably go away, too. There are poses I really can't do in yoga because my sweater puppies get all up in my face and I can't breathe. I won't even bother running -- two bras is barely enough to keep them under control while I'm walking or on the elliptical machine. If I was to run, I'd have to hold on to my cans for dear life, lest they break free from their bonds and hurt someone.
Oh, I can't forget the inappropriate attention they bring. But my knockers get me free drinks, too. So that one is pretty much a wash.
I would have plenty of reasons to do it. But ultimately, it's elective surgery. I've already had surgery twice in my life -- when I was 16, to remove bone chips in my knees and when I was 20, to remove my thyroid. Unless I have a very good reason -- like I want to be able to move around without pain (knee surgery) or I have cancer (thyroid), I'm not having surgery.
Part of my mom's reasoning, I'm sure, is based on her breast cancer. When she was in the hospital after her surgery, she apparently told one of her sisters that all the women in the family should just get their tits lopped off as a precaution. Yeah ... no thanks, mom.
It's not like breast reduction surgery is a breeze. It's painful and it's complicated. For the love of God, they cut your fucking nipples off! You can lose sensitivity. I'm sure there's something about breast feeding, but I don't give two shits about that.
I don't think I'd feel right or look right with smaller boobs, anyway. At the end of the day, my rack is a part of who I am -- be it good or bad. I love my boobies and I'm not getting rid of them unless it's a life-or-death situation. And that is something I may very well have to deal with later in my life. I'm going to enjoy them while I can.