Please Pass the Party Favors

The Christmas season is ironic to me. 

How we have tendencies to gain the most weight than any other time of year, yet at the same time need to look our best for those seasonal soirees. A time to reconnect with our families; however, in the process, realize their dysfunction. The more gifts we buy, the more we grapple with how little money we really have to spend. But, what's Christmas without presents? How would I know...

The biggest irony of all seems to lie on my chest. Two luscious lipids just waiting to adorn themselves in the holiday fashion's finest. And within this refined showcase of classical skimpiness, therein rests the irony of a big breasted girl with an invite to a Robert Goulet themed Christmas party. 

I took the twins tied in a brown and off-white patterned wrap dress. Amazingly, I still fit in the thing; it's lasted me since sophomore year when I first donned it at the Homecoming dance in Dallas. Even then, I had to pin the chest together so it wouldn't be horribly offensive. 

Good news! We were so early for the party, we got to meet the hosts parents. My biggest fear thereafter was that this little pin, weaved strategically through the cloth and sealed with a prayer, would pop off into the sweet old mother's eye and blind her--having no clue as to where this deadly flying object came from.

Of course, the boobs would be to blame. If I had a dress that fit them as well as the rest of my body (which is of moderate curvaceous proportions), maybe there was no need to wear something low cut? Maybe I should have just dressed in theme and worn a moustache, turtleneck and blazer? The androgyny might blind-side them, but certainly not permanently disable their vision. 

I think the upstanding, Goulet-loving guests at this party enjoyed having their lives endangered at the chance of seeing some fleshy chest peer out of an unassuming wrap dress. I know I enjoyed the thrill of it all, and although deeply intoxicated by the end of the evening, managed to keep the pin there until I willingly took off the dress that has been worn on dates since I was 16. A whole lot of memories. A whole lot. 

Teaching a man a lesson he will never learn

Daniel: "I've never told you this before, but you have terrible posture."

Me: "Do I?"

Daniel: "Yes, your shoulders and neck seem to slouch forward. You have to stand up straight like this." (Proceeds to demonstrate)

...Silence...

end of conversation.

Above, a snippet into the life of a big breasted girl, er, should I say woman. 

Judging by the size of my massive mammaries,  it would be a seemingly difficult task to hold myself fully upright all the time. Given the little I know of physics, gravity and the like, when one portion of matter is heavier than the other, the body tends to overcompensate by using a technical term I like to call "slouching".

Even dating back to grade school, the crux of my big breasted existence rested heavily on my shoulders (pun definitely intended). Do I put them above or below the table when sitting at lunch? If above, I run the risk of some serious staining and potentially finding half-eaten morsels tucked in my cleavage for an unexpected late-afternoon snack. If below, I might as well forget about utensils and table manners I'm so close to the plate. 

Pristine posture also warrants extreme trampiness (word coined by yours truly). When proceeding to follow advice from the aforementioned Daniel, my bust looks so big I could get cat calls wearing a sweatshirt. Standing completely erect with a burdening front bundle is like trying to defy the very nature of gravity (unless you're wearing a nursing bra) by parading your chest around as if it doesn't want to just rest kindly in the cradle of a full support bra a little lower to the ground than expected. Of course, the importance of showing off the goodies and getting them out for some fresh air is understood, but that's certainly asking for more than a few hollers from my male fans. 

So, what do I say to Daniel? Nothing. How can I summarize a buxom woman's plight in a sentence or sentiment of any kind that will really make a man understand the toppling twins' dilemma with the height of proper posture. Ah, such is life and the courage we find in ourselves to go through it, back pains and all. 

Couldn't Buy a Dress in London

Walking dreamily through Greenwich village, I peer into the window of a promising boutique. Handmade designer dresses line the rack in an assortment of chic shades. The grey and black frocks might fit me, so I try them on.

The fitting room is just a closet with a space heater, and as I struggle to pull the wool dresses over my ample chest, I begin to perspire. Just a bit. The smallest size fits everywhere...but my boobs. The medium size fits even better everywhere...but my boobs. Finally, the large size basically fits...but my boobs are still far too large in the dress. They're squashed into a very unsightly uniboob. In my typically American (apparently) directness, I tell the kind shopgirl that my boobs are too big for her cute dress, apologize, and am on my way. She actually balked!

"A lady came in here earlier with your 'problem'. I wish I had that 'problem'."

With great power comes great responsibility. That's what I told her as I turned to face the chilly London night air.