• Big boobs, or the attack of the sweater puppy

    Boobs are fantastic, frisky, sweater puppies looking for a home. They can be referred to as bosoms, chi-chis, ta-tas, cans, Winnebegos, and Cha-chas. They are hooters on some women, mosquito bites on others. They are milk machines when one is young and divining rods when old.

    With all those names, let it be known that “Big-Ones” (and I do mean natural ones) have their own gravitational pull.

    First, it’s hard to look away from really large ones. They just seem to pull the eye to them. You can’t look away. It’s like a freak accident or a worm hole on Star Trek. You have no power over them.

    Big ones, if you play softball, can function as a third hand. You can catch a ball with them and use your glove to trap it.

    Find the right brassiere and they can hold a drink or dagger.

    When mine used to be small, I didn’t appreciate the freedom of the small rack. Until I felt the mumbley, tumbley assault of the big rack. It happened today.

    Here’s the scenario: two days, two different bras, two first-degree boob assaults.

    First, one of my closest BFFs gave me three bras from that shop with the pink striped boxes. I did yard work wearing the black one under my tank top. I leaned forward on my hillside and, snap, thwack, ieieieieieieie. The strap gave way and out came Shamu roaming free from the shackles of “Memory Fit” material. The strap flew forward and twanged out of the shirt. My neighbor’s eyes popped out. For a man, it was probably a dream come true. I was assaulted. I could have been blinded. I ditched that thing in the house and swore off using it ever again.

    The next day, I drove 150 miles to meet my brother and didn’t stop to pee. When I parked in Gilroy, a lady said that the bathroom was at the end of the building and sent me on a snipe hunt through the Gilroy Shopping Outlets. I had my keys in hand and walked past eleven stores. At the eleventh store, I asked a clerk where the bathroom was. He pointed in the direction of where I had just been. I turned around, and snap, thwack, ieieieieieiei, the strap broke on the back and flung forward, over the shoulder as the boulder, sweater puppy, chi-chi, momma-can was set free.

    It was Free Willy. I heard the music in my head.

    My boob wobbled and shook with every step. I had no purse to hold on one side. It was just one contained and one running free at last.

    It was rhythm; it was blues. It was was “Bobbida, bobbida, bobbida, bobbida” all the way past ten crowded stores to get to where I started. Each person I passed was mesmerized by the gravitational pull.

    Even I could hardly look away when I glanced at my reflection in the storefront glass. My boob called for so much attention, I think it might want its own reality TV show. And it was so mesmerizing I think it should have one!

    I fixed it when I finally found the ladies room. I still had a meet-up with my brother, and some serious things to talk about besides Shamu, Free Willy, or the sweater puppies wrestling in my shirt.



    • All I can suggest is go to a bra store and have some little old lady or younger woman fit you. I have never been happier with my breasts since I found the magic answer. That and a breast reduction did it for me. Now it is new bras every year or so and always the fitting that counts. I have recommended this store to friends and family alike. If you are ever in Santa Monica let me know and I will take you.



    • Also, with the right bra you don’t want to come home after work and rip your breasts and bra off your body.



    • Funny. I noticed something funny the other day in the shower. My man boobs shake and shimmy when I scrub my hair. This is something new for me. I think I need a diet or a “bro.” I look forward to your next adventure.
      Donald


      • Sarah D

      • July 27, 2011 at 4:57 pm
      • Reply

      Hilarious! You’re singing my song, from a very young age. Living with big boobs is a take-no-chances and take-no-prisoners kinda deal. It’s high-maintenance, extra-strength, triple-hook, ugly-bra, shoulder-ache, pain-in-the-butt kinda deal. But then again….. they’ve got me where I am today.

      Best of luck with your new BFFs!


        • Jesse

        • July 28, 2011 at 8:30 am
        • Reply

        Do you mean my boobs are BFFs?


      • Kelvin

      • July 27, 2011 at 6:51 pm
      • Reply

      See…this is why I trust sportsbras. Wait…did I just post this on a public website? Funny, funny column!


      • Joe

      • July 27, 2011 at 7:03 pm
      • Reply

      sorry i missed it


      • Judy

      • July 27, 2011 at 7:26 pm
      • Reply

      When I get really old and start to shrink (hopefully I will shrink) I’m going to buy one of those strappy, lacey bras in the pink and white bags. Something to look forward to in my nineties.


      • Brian

      • July 28, 2011 at 6:36 pm
      • Reply

      If the neighbor sets up a “Jesse-cam”, we’ll know why.


      • Jesse

      • July 28, 2011 at 7:06 pm
      • Reply

      Thanks folks.



    • Bobbida bobbida bobbida! LOL!
      Bibitty bobitty BOOB!
      Cute column! 🙂


      • Nana Bear

      • March 12, 2013 at 12:47 pm
      • Reply

      My booboos used to look forward, as if anticpating their next adventure. Now they stare down dejectedly, as if there is no hope. Alas… XXXOOO



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