I seriously need to talk about my boobs. They seem to be expanding by the minute, and I blame this, genetically, on my Mommom: Maryclaire of the Huge Honkin’ Rack.
Much of my life has been spent propping the girls up just so, but recently it’s been less about propping and more about crowd control. I’ve gained five pounds this year, bringing the weight I carry on my 5’3″ frame to 124. People, I’m not a big person, and although I’ve always been a bit busty, the 32E’s I’m now sporting seem a bit disproportionate.
Nothing fits, and June is busting out all over. I feel like a ten pound ham in a five pound can. And! Now that my hair is in a pixie cut, my boobs are officially as big as my head. It’s not a look I was going for.
But, here’s the thing! A five pound weight gain should NOT equate to a two cup size increase, should it? What the Chuck, Farley? A bit of the weight is sitting here, and a bit there….that doesn’t leave enough to account for the big bazonkas I’m now trying to keep corralled inside my shirt. Mathematically, this doesn’t make sense.
I need to be taller.