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I Wish They Were Bigger, and Other Shallow Musings

FullSizeRender-15There is a broken rail on the M line, the train crammed elbows to ass cheeks, leisurely stopping at each station. It lingers while track fires are extinguished, or suicides are committed or whatever, and I’m fast on my way to losing my shit: muttering to myself, cutting dark looks around, kicking the door like I can spur the subway to get me to yoga class on time. I see a former student of mine, this kid who always looks a little lost, even when she is sitting at her own desk. She blinks at me through smudged glasses, buffeted by crowds of commuters, while the conductor makes indecipherable announcements about the delay. This kid is trying to get into a competitive high school in midtown, and the placement exam started five minutes ago. And she is behaving better than me.

Here’s the thing about other people: sometimes they startle me into the awareness that I am a horrible, selfish person.

This has been a week of impatience and impotent rage over things like not getting a seat on the subway or failing to secure my favorite spot in the yoga studio. No one else is acting like this. I don’t see other people throwing shit because they might be late for Pilates.   Other people are simmering quietly, while I boil over with such a froth of invectives that even the homeless people inch further away. It’s like road rage, but the road is my entire life.

I can’t sleep; every noise wakes me up, and people are awake here, drinking and fucking and living. None of my pillows feels comfortable, and I don’t understand it, because I used to think they were OK.   Every time the cheap wood of the bathroom door collides with the doorjamb like a director’s clapper, it startles me out of a miserable half doze.  Action. Finally, I’m just starting to fit the notches of consciousness into the grooves of valerian-assisted sleep when a single chime from the iPad on my dresser brings me back to utter wakefulness.

I decide that I’m going to take the iPad and throw it out my front door. I want to set fire to all my technology. These glowing rectangles are at least 30% of the reason I can not sleep (the other 70% is having arguments with people who are not here).   But when I pick it up, it slips from my hand and hits the little toe I once broke, twenty years ago, in the middle of an argument with Bummer.

Motherfucker, I cry in bruised exasperation.   In the movie, this is where they would insert the footage of birds frightened from their roosts.

I can not sleep, and I am alone.   In some small hour, I dial Sketch. He’s not too big on sleep. I think maybe he will be up, and will be able to coach me to sleep. He hypnotized me once, his voice persuading me to drop it, like a hostage negotiator or someone playing with an overenthusiastic dog. When he commanded SLEEP, I plummeted like an elevator with a cut cable. Slept.

In the morning, I check to see what the message was that chimed in and woke me up. It’s from a friend of mine asking if I want to go to Greece over spring break with her to volunteer at this refugee camp on the island of Kos.

In case I needed a reminder: I am a horrible selfish person, completely consumed with my own bullshit. Case in point: lately, while my friends are worrying about Syrian refugees, I have been whiling away my spare time browsing plastic surgery websites.  My favorite ones are South Korean.  I figure could skip on out of New York and come back a month later from Gagnam with a new face, all my problems bouncing off my newfound symmetry.  I look at the before-and-after pictures, sighing with envy and lust.   One average-looking Asian girl comes off the operating table glowing like a lightbulb, her eyes doll-round.

I am scolding myself even as I’m perusing these websites, because there are greater problems in the world then whether or not the skin on my neck lays the way I want it to, and because it’s such a gross industry to support; I fucking hate those ads on the New York City subways that show a woman holding a pair of clementines in front of her chest and frowning in photo one, and then holding a pair of grapefruits and grinning in photo two.  Written over these ads in sharpie are things like This oppresses women. Sometimes the sharpie-handwriting is mine.

But secretly an enormous hypocrite, I sometimes look at the websites and wonder what it would be like.  How things would be different, if I emptied out my bank account to get my chest cut open and filled with jellybeans or whatever they put in there.   I’m not going to lie; I would love to have bigger tits.  I own a bunch of those bras filled with air or that mystery jelly, bras that crinkle when you hug me.  Some days I wear them and some days I don’t, magical cleavage that waxes and wanes at my will.

When I was twelve my mother bought me my first bra.  I had heard boys supposedly would come up behind you and snap it; I showed my back with studied casualness, but they left me alone.  Maybe that game is only fun if there is the chance that it could unclasp and unleash an avalanche of boob.  I tried padding it out with folded layers of toilet paper, but no one was fooled. I was so committed to this ruse I even went into a swimming pool this way once and broke the intake filter when my padding immediately disintegrated.

A few years ago, I went to the mineral baths in Saratoga, New York with some well-endowed friends.  Mineral waters are known for their buoyancy– settling into the water, the girls were laughing.  Tit soup, my friend called over.  Oh yeah, totally, I responded, sinking like a stone.

“Sometimes I think about breast implants,” I tell Sketch.  “What would you think about that?”   I’m expecting him to protest.  He’s always praises the shape of my body, telling me what a razor blade I am.  Which is not the most sexually enticing symbol, now that I think about it.  He also calls me his lick of flame. These metaphors are the stuff of weaponry, not wet dreams.

“If you wanted them, that would be cool,” he says.

Bodies are different, and I get that.  It would be better for me, almost, if the possibility for modification didn’t exist.  And there’s things about having small tits that I like: I can stand on my head without anything pressing into my chin and wear sundresses in the spring without bras, and I don’t know what it feels like for it to hurt when you run down stairs.  I could shoot a bow and arrow without my nipples getting in the way, if I needed to.

But I still want them.   I could go to Brazil and get implants; apparently they give out boob jobs there for girls’ sixteenth birthdays.   I don’t know what ultimately keeps stopping me– the image, maybe of someone with a sharpie drawing dotted surgery lines along my perfectly healthy chest.  This oppresses women.   What if they come out looking shitty?  I knew a girl, back when I was our city’s most flat-chested stripper, who used to have to duct-tape her tits into place because of a botched pair of implants. Her nipples looked liked shoes when you put them on the wrong feet.  Also, I heard the pain is pretty serious, and they give you drugs, which makes my dormant opiate habit smile in its sleep– not an animal you want to encourage with scraps.  And the $8000 price tag means I would be choosing slightly bigger tits over a couple of years worth of summer travel, and I do want to go to Greece with my friend, and also I am lusting after a trip to Patagonia.  My friend Michelle is there now, hiking glaciers and going to this island only inhabited by penguins.

I’d rather kick it with the penguins, flightless birds endowed with the A-cups of wings, FullSizeRender-17short and stubby. As a species they traded flight for superior swimming, for the ability to hold a breath under water for twenty minutes. There is a trade-off, it seems, in all things.

I take the subway to work this morning, and it’s running on time. Over the doors, an ad for a Manhattan surgical center featuring a topless woman invites me to DREAM BIG. Demeaning to women, a recently-added sticker opines. Who knows. Maybe they’ll be bigger in my next life. Maybe in this one, I can learn to worry about something else, someone else. There’s no implants for selflessness, unfortunately. I look around for an old lady who might like my seat, but the train is mostly empty.

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125 thoughts on “I Wish They Were Bigger, and Other Shallow Musings

  1. There’s nothing wrong with you, so don’t be so tough on yourself. Yes, there’s problems all over the world and you getting a different cup size isn’t going to change that. Do what you want, and where your dreams take you. You can even have that frowny triangle on my blog if you’d like. 🙂

    Liked by 5 people

  2. Blog BFF and A cup Allie! (And by A cup, I’m talking like, barely qualifying to be considered breasts.) You really need to get out of my head girl! Just yesterday two coworkers were going on about how great a shirt fit because it didn’t pull and strangle them or something-and I was like, “You didn’t button the top button to of course it wouldn’t.” And they’re all like, “Uh, no silly, my boobs.” And I was like, “Oh, I didn’t realize that was a thing.” Ah, to not want to see the world and to get the internal jelly beans!

    Liked by 2 people

  3. as a fellow flat chested gal I can definitely relate I mean my 13 year old niece has bigger boobs than I do and I’m 27 years old! there was a period in my life where I was super self conscious and felt really embarrassed about my cup size even now they seem to have gotten a tad bit smaller most times I don’t even see the point in wearing a bra. I have never considered plastic surgery and there are a million reason why I will never some of them you have already mentioned but I just wanted to provide some sort of support. We live in a masculine dominant society where women are objectified and in a sense it is dictated to us what we must look like and so for those who don’t fit the bill it is easy to feel inadequate and dislike your body but it is necessary to understand that the we evolved with breasts as a means to feed our offspring and also breast size does not reflect upon your character and any man/woman who judges based on that and not your personality or what you bring to the table is not worth your time or effort. On a personal level you must learn to not judge yourself so harshly and understand that these thoughts that you are having about your body does not come from you but rather it comes from the outside (social media, magazines, men, etc). someone else has taught you to be dissatisfied with your body and buying into these implanted thoughts may be hindering you from fully loving yourself but on the other hand if you are 100% sure after you have done your research and weighed out all the pros and cons that surgery would be the route most beneficial to you and would indeed make you happy and you have the resources to make it happen then I say go for it but just be sure that you are doing it for yourself and not for someone else/other people because at the end of the day only you get to live with that decision people come and go all the time but if there are any doubts at all even one then don’t do it

    Liked by 5 people

  4. Omg I’m furious when someone occupies THAT particular spot at the gym which is MINE. Never been late. Sleeping is always an issue: people are too long, pillow too low/high, boyfriend moves too often/breaths too loud and the earplugs are way too uncomfortable to use them. But we can sleep on our belly, which is nice. Plus, cup A means you are skinny everywhere else too, which is also nice. I would never spend so much money to be in pain for weeks (if not months).
    At the same time, I’m still jealous and I hate it.

    Liked by 1 person

  5. stephbutt says:

    i’m small breasted to and have often thought about surgery, But then I think theres a lot I could do with that sort of money, you’ll find there are quite a few guys out there who prefer smaller breasted women. My husband always tells me when I am feeling down about my boobs that he loves them because they are the perfect handful. Beside there are bras out there that can make are boobs appear bigger.🙂 x

    Liked by 2 people

      • stephbutt says:

        I’ve don’t we have them ones in the here in the uk, I usually go for ones with a little bit of gel in them. I get a few comments saying I am but never feel it. lack of confidence sucks.

        Like

  6. I actually detest that a lot of bras having enough padding. One used to only find that at discount place in Chinatown.

    With same guy for last 25 yrs. Let’s put it this way: you don’t want to be buxom when you get into your 50’s and beyond. Gravity of time and age, is not kind and being strapped up like knight-in-armour for exercise looks like a real hot humid hassle.

    After reading for some women, that exercise is a hassle unless they wear “armour”, I’m glad not ever to worry about that or about passage of time dragging my chest down because am small.

    There is a real advantage of being small….you are much freer in body movement, clothing you choose to wear.

    Instead focus on your long term health instead of boobs. Any woman with breast cancer will tell you that.

    Liked by 2 people

      • Funny…..I used to live in Toronto. Just go to big Chinatowns in big North American cities. I haven’t looked recently the latest trends there.. I have a terrible theory –totally unscientific: either the women are slim or just are plumper if they eat a lot more processed /fattier foods than their previous generations. Hence the bust size is bigger simply because their bone structure is bigger, etc.

        Like

  7. Hahahaha! I can totally relate to this post! I thought my boobs were the tiniest ever, until I had my baby and stopped breastfeeding. They shrunk even further than ever before! This post has given me a light-hearted view of my not-so-ample twins. Kudos.

    Liked by 2 people

  8. This is great! Totally related with so much of this! I love my small boobs but also think about a boob job. It doesn’t help when a man you love says something along the lines of “I don’t care either way” or “if you want to” it personally drives me crazy. I guess we will never know what it feels like to be those girls who got their bra unsnapped, which I’m guilty of telling a friend in 5th grade happened to me but never actually did. Im going to stick with my small boobs for now too.

    Like

    • Truthfully I kind of wish someone would throw themselves protectively in front of my tits exclaiming DON’T YOU DARE. And I totally relate to pretending to participate in woes like sore boobs with my better endowed friends as a kid…

      Like

  9. It’s not only the pain after the surgery. Your breasts will never feel the same again, your implants can’t feel. Me too I’m flat chested, hearing boys talking about me like: she’s cute. But you know what? she’s be hot if she had bigger breasts.. it’s hard I know. But I also know that there are a whole lot of women out there who had to remove their breasts and have a boob job because if cancer. What would they pay to have our breasts? I feel like I owe it to them to keep mine natural and healthy. Be grateful for health, not for fitting in in a sick body-image.

    Liked by 2 people

  10. I can relate so completely. When I’m on my back you can’t tell from my chest if I’m girl or boy. When I was a teenager I suffered so much bullying for it and I absolutely hated it. But a few experiences taught me that body image is completely relative. Modelling allowed me to love and cherish my tiny breasts(especially when I saw my wannabe cousin curse her breasts because she wanted to model)… but it made me hate my big Brazilian ass. Tiny French girls and my 6th floor Parisian walk-up made me feel happy for having a flat chest and not having to wear a bra (imagine running down 6 floors in a hurry with your boobs flailing and you’ll get why it’s such a relief). But they made me want to murder my thighs. In Brazil I am tall and thin (and average). In France I am tall and fat (and exotic/dark skinned). In Berlin I was short and fat. Finally in Mumbai I feel like it doesn’t fucking matter because here I am tall and skinny and white! But I am the same person….
    So after considering implants, liposuction, and going through years of eating disorders, I finally saw that Boobs are to feed your children, Asses are to sit on and Thighs are just another part of your legs. And they’re all part of this beautiful thing that holds your heart and your mind.
    This objective point of view helps me look at things with more calm🙂 I’m just thinking, I’m so much like you, I get upset at such little petty things but taking a step back to look at things has helped me masses. You probably won’t like it but meditation man… practically saved my life. It helps with the stress, the anger, the sleep and the self-loathing.
    You write beautifully and personally and I wish you soooo much good🙂

    Liked by 4 people

  11. Are you me?
    I lose my marbles at almost everything now. Has this been going on for a while with you?

    I’m considering getting back on medication to still the madness.
    Also, tits are tits. Love your breasts as much as any lover would.

    Like

    • I require very little stimulation to go completely crazy. Basically I need soothing music and bland food at all times, not change and excitement. So being in the discover section is making me need to lay down. I am profoundly overstimulated. How’s your day doing today?

      Like

      • Get some Miles Davis on the go. He will look after your ears.
        I could only say that good food will change things for you, make a big salad with chicken. Instant win.

        Today is an okay day, got a job interview tomorrow so i’m going for a skate on my plank and a long smoke to dull the hyperactivity.

        Congrats on getting featured btw.

        Like

  12. Hello sunshine! Well, as you have already been told in your blog, you’re not alone ^.^ You’re post was both incredibly amusing and very relatable. I sometimes say I’m queen bee of the IBTC. Just know that little boobs are beautiful and sexy, and if you have someone that appreciates your body, take them at face value. My love has told me many times how much he likes my boobs, and it’s incredibly gratifying. ^.^ I hope that you are able to find a good place for yourself, regardless of what you do. Implants or no implants, rock socks sunshine and do your thing. Have a beautiful day

    Liked by 2 people

  13. Hi, I had a good laugh reading your post and so related to it.
    The things that crossed my mind, that I could do, to finance my boob job.
    Recently I went to be measured in a lingerie shop and the girl told me I could either have 36A, or 34B…I have never bought an A again. It’s stupid, but makes me feel better that I can actually fit a B cup.
    They look amazing with padded bras…but it’s kind of embarrassing when you go to bed with someone, the first time.
    I always feel so self-conscious and like I cheated (looking not being).
    The happiest times was when I was breastfeeding, haha, girl, I had to buy D cup, I could see them without looking down, they were always in my field of vision…

    Liked by 1 person

    • I would love if mine just randomly got big but without having to have a baby? Can’t they just randomly swell up somehow?

      I never wear a padded bra if I think I’m going to get laid, but dude, they are soooooo small, as you can see from my photo on this blog post.

      Like

      • Well, mine never got bigger, unless I was about to breastfeed… And then they looked amazing but could not be touched, just seen.
        And I only have padded bras. Even my bikinis are padded…Am I a bad person? haha

        Like

    • What a mathematical world it is! If there is a boob job, must be a penis job too, right? The next is a brain buster! Who cares? We are much more deeper than that and something in us must be unmeasurable…that “something” must be the most important thing we have. Soul. And if someone after our shelf, than measure them with a rule too😉

      Liked by 2 people

  14. I’m a man and I much prefer small boobs to big ones. Personal preference aside, I know that the great majority of men prefer natural ones to implants. They look odd, even odder when the the woman lays down and feel even worse.

    Revel in what you you have!

    Like

  15. I’m 31 and always been between a 34 A and 34 B. it use to bother me until i found out that most of my well endowed friends were starting to worry because their breast were sagging. Ive had two kids and mine still look just as perky as they did at 20.

    Liked by 2 people

  16. You are a horrible person for being so fixated on groovy little fat lumps. I would be making a big commotion, waving my arms in the air if you told me you were going for implants. Small breasted women are the bomb…do the topless sundress or turtleneck more…flaunt those flat little wonders! My appreciation for women slides into the basement physicality if I know they’ve got implants. Life has just gotten too plastic…be an original.

    Liked by 1 person

  17. You’re not alone…the small boob thing sucks in this society. If it’s something that makes you insecure, change it! We are SO lucky in this life to have all the options that we do. I can’t WAIT to get implants, even if I have to wait about another decade or so to afford it. No one makes me feel badly about my boobs except myself, though– if it’s something YOU want to feel confident, do your research and go for it! But boobs are not forever, and there are body types for everyone.

    Thanks for the post! Nice to know someone else out there feels the struggle too!

    Liked by 1 person

  18. As a “busty babe” I couldn’t imagine wanting bigger breasts. I hate boobs. But I guess that’s how it works. You want boobs I want to get rid of them!😜 An old wise woman once told us all “beauty is only skin deep.” I enjoyed reading this.

    Liked by 1 person

  19. Annie from Australia lovin’ ya story
    I’m an old bag now, that’s what they call us old shiela’s here Down Under (Australia ).
    You wait until you wake up in the morning and wonder why ya nipples hurt, only to find out ya standin’ on ’em.
    I enjoy a funny story, and you tell a rippa funny story.
    Go to the Greek Islands with ya mate, hang on to ya small tits then ya won’t have my problem when ya get older….
    I know ya probably thinkin’, shit! Who talks like this…
    Us Aussies do, True Blue Aussie’s that is!
    Loved ya blog so much T Rex
    Loved a band called T Rex, back in the early 70’s…bloody brilliant they were!!
    Cheers Tippy Rex from Annie in Australia 🌞 🌴 🌊
    P.S I am a rookie blogger, havin’ a shit of a go gettin’ someone to check my site out
    Pop in I’d love to keep in touch

    Liked by 1 person

  20. This is great. Such good writing. “Other people are simmering quietly, while I boil over with such a froth of invectives that even the homeless people inch further away. It’s like road rage, but the road is my entire life.”
    I murmered, Aaaamen. Actually on a lot of parts I wanted to stop and clap not for just what you wrote but how you wrote it. *clap, clap

    Liked by 1 person

  21. “I knew a girl, back when I was our city’s most flat-chested stripper…” – I definitely pee’d myself a bit right then and there! Oh, this was good! This was so good! I’ll come back for more of your wit.

    Liked by 1 person

  22. I’m a proud A cup! I always pride myself on the ability to run without giving myself a black eye from all of the bouncity bounce from larger boobs. My cousin got implants before she had babies (big mistake she says) and they are giving her hell. Love yourself, but enjoy yourself. You only get one life…if making the girls bigger gives you peace, go for it. If not, have peace with your awesome A cup.

    Liked by 1 person

  23. I can really relate to your feelings about the New York City subway ads. I absolutely hate them because they make me question my body. I also hate the yellow bikini beach body ads. Seriously the worst.

    Like

  24. I loved this! As a fellow member of the itty bitty titty committee I played around with the thought of implants for years. When I was in high school I used to have to clip my bras with hair barrettes because my boobs were so small and even my tiny training bra left pockets of empty space. I used to feel almost alien, not quite a woman (especially when confronted/bombarded by ads).
    But, over the past few years I’ve really embraced my small boobs! It’s easier to go braless, and I feel for my busty friends and family members who suffer from back pain that I’ll never know.
    Nipple confidence is the way to go!

    Liked by 2 people

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