Monday, 3 November 2008


If you don't hear from me tomorrow, it will be because my giant breasts have decided to suffocate me in the night, stealthily creeping upwards and sitting on my face like a jealous cat on a newborn.

My breasts are HUGE at the moment. No, I am not pregnant. It is a direct result of holiday overeating - basically each one is currently carrying six fondant fancies, twenty eight pizzas, five ginger shapes and a Yorkshire fat rascal:

Actually, come to think of it, they look like a pair of supersized fat rascals sitting on my chest. I don't have two nipple-esque glacé cherries and three almonds on each though. Not last time I looked, but with a rack like this constant vigilance is required to get through the day without accumulating varied foodstuffs in your cleavage.

They have spent the last few days spilling out of all my bras in a semi obscene fashion that would probably be really sexy if I wasn't short and grumpy and creased, with tiny squinty red eyes. They are wobbling masses of stodge. I am not sure what their plan is exactly (world domination? Their own tv channel? Forming an independent breakaway state on my chest?), but it does not involve being contained in a brassière. Mais non. Or in most of my 'thin' clothes (all of which should be consigned to Ebay, because they belong to a long distant era when dinosaurs roamed the earth and I had prominent clavicles, the outline of which will never be seen again).

And yes, I know some people would kill to gain weight on their tits. The CFO isn't particuarly complaining. Not me. I have always wanted a really flat chest and looked enviously at those bony little women who can wear absolutely anything without looking like Barbara Windsor. Like, shirts! I really really want to wear those minimalist Helmut Lang black shirts that architect chicks wear without bulging out and popping buttons and looking dishevelled and lumpy. T shirts too. I can't do t-shirts. Or most kinds of dresses, swimming costumes, etc etc. The list is endless. Although, objectively, I looked repulsive at my thinnest, and even I could see how horrid I looked naked, the novelty of having a flat chest was so amazing. I have a totally redundant collection of Paul & Joe, Agnes B and Ella Moss teeny tiny shirty blousey things that barely cover my back now. I tried one on this summer, optimistically, and it stopped somewhere around my armpits. Nice look.

So. I think I'm putting them on ebay.Well, putting something on ebay. I just haven't decided yet whether it should be the tits or the thin clothes. Any takers for either? Or should we run a competition?


Teena Vallerine said...

My hubby recently made a very amusing and satisfying comment which is perhaps too personal for blogworld, but for your sake I shall report it here. When I was bemoaning my large boobs (bum, tum etc.) he commented on a close friend with an extremely slim wife (of whom I was previously not a little envious)- Hubby said "I always thought he was gay - he might as well be in bed with a bloke....." HAHAHAHHAHAHAHAAAA Oh I enjoyed the moment! I love that hubby can still surprise me after almost 20 years! t.xxxx

Teena Vallerine said...

oh dear - for those a little sensitive to political correctness might I please clarify that hubby is not in the least homophobic, simply intrigued by his friends supposed heterosexuality. oh no! That sounds even worse. Now I've done it! Anyway - the point is that I doubt that anyones boobs could look as bad as that thing from Betty's teashop! t.xxxx

Anonymous said...

I do like kitschen sink's story! My husband always preferred me with a bit of surplus flesh on. I have a collection of things that no longer fit me; I keep them in a big zip up thing under the bed and every now and then I look at them with not a little wonder. How come I didn't realise how slim I was then? I keep them because I keep trying to lose the extra pounds (stones) and if I get rid of the clothes I know I will have given up - and I can't do that yet.

Anonymous said...

Sorry - kitschen Pink, freudian slip.

Waffle said...

KP - I think this whole post is totally ill-advised and will attract The Wrong Sort, but what the hell Archie what the hell. In comparison, your comment is totally fine and innocuous.

CA - I really want to ditch the self-deluding clothes, but they represent way too much money I shouldn't have spent. Damn.

Potty Mummy said...

I wouldn't say mine are anywhere near the same league you're speaking of, but I do know the discomfort of extra weight appearing initially on my busts (note the plural). Luckily for me, it normally slips downwards pretty quickly, obliterating what waist I had. Oh, rejoice.

Kim Velk said...

You mean if you eat less you can shrink your boobs? Why didn't I think of that! Mine are now like those of a well-known midwestern stripper who had two dwarves doing Sherpa duty. (I heard about this from a dear, now departed aunt who said her husband had no pictures of his family in his wallet but did have one of this stripper). Re: reducing them - I have been thinking more along the lines of surgery, as this is the American way. But, naah, I'll just continue to look crappy and pneumatic.

Waffle said...

PM - "Waist"? What is this "waist" of which you speak?

Red Shoes said...

Oh god, Jaywalker... if you decide to get rid of clothes, you have to let me know first. Not that I have money for the ebay bidding, I don't, but at least I can enviously gaze at them.

I was always really tiny... I was never over 95 pounds (43k for you metric types) and my bra size was AA until I turned about 33 and had a small nervous breakdown requiring antidepressants that made me want to eat sugar by the tablespoonful. I gained 30 pounds in 3 months. Since those years, I have regained my mental health and no longer take antidepressants but I never went back to that skeletal, androgynous size I once was. I guess I'm about 115 lb now, which is quite nice, actually. My body decided that was as good a time as any to grow into a regular woman and now I have enormous boobs and a gut to prove it.

Well, at least it feeeels like they are enormous boobs. They are a real A cup. To me, they feel massive and incredibly sexy. If I mash them together, THEY ACTUALLY MAKE CLEAVAGE! It's a spectacular event. After being practically concave for over 3 decades, I now have a bust! Other's might not see it as such, but I do, I do. I'm overjoyed. Too bad my stomach sticks out more than my chest does. *sigh*

I envy the likes of you, Jaywalker, and all of your busty readers. They are so jealousy-enducing, the lovely bosoms. While I'm thrilled to actually have enough to put in a bra, I'll always wish I one of those gorgeous chests that make the boys (and many of the girls) forget how to speak properly. Yours, I'm certain, are gloriously feminine, sexy and fantastic. As for their world domination aspirations, how bad could that world be? Why not just let them do their thing?

Mr Farty said...

MMMmmm boobies, cleavage, ect. This is grate...but how do I get rid of my moobs?

btw, there's a brilliantly horrible cake post over at the burbs. You need to check it out, even if you'll never bake it.

Teena Vallerine said...

'how come I didn't realise how slim I was then' OH! CA ain't that the truth! What wisdom! I once worked beside a girl who wore three pairs to leggings to make her legs look less scrawny - I offered a transplant but she never took me up on it. Maybe we could start an online fat bank (like egg banks and blood banks and booby milk banks but just vanity driven!). And is all this helping our dear jaywalker feel better about her yorkshire buns? And how, precisely, is kitschen sink freudian? Obviously a belgian thing! I love this blog. It's the only one where I read all the comments too! You're an inspiration JW! t.x

NOJuju said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
Red Shoes said...

And is all this helping our dear jaywalker feel better about her yorkshire buns?

Hm, probably not. Sorry JW.

I love this blog. It's the only one where I read all the comments too! You're an inspiration JW

Agreed, agreed. 100% agreed.

Daisy said...

Ok, I've recovered from my inital default outrage about people compaining about things which are widely acknowledged to be a Good Thing, while those of us with trainer bras stuggle to sympathise. (It's also often about hair, with people banging on about their "unmanageable thick thick hair!!" which is the one which really gets my goat!)

Kitschen Pink's comment kind of made me sad because while it's amusing, it's another reinforcement of the idea that flat or small chested women are an anomaly, and somehow not women at all. I'm bored of our "Double D culture".

Anyway I CAN imagine it being annoying to have apendages weighing you down and getting in the way and making clothes look tight, but I'm guessing that you look fantastic with a bit of weight on, and hopefully this discomfort will pass. Anyway in conclusion I'll definitely take the clothes and the boobs, unless they're otherwise occupied ruling the world!

Barb McMahon and Alan Mailloux said...

I'm so glad you've signed up for NaBloPoMo!

Anonymous said...

Yes yes yes. I know just what you mean. The most annoying thing about having big boobs is how they become public property and open to comment. As in "Ooh Sarah your boobs are huuuuuuge!/ Your boobs have grown ginormous!/ What have you been eating?". Something tells me people would not talk about your stomach this way. And don't even get me started on the greasy men who seem to pop up every time I'm walking down a lonely street feeling really shitty and lear 'nice tits' out of their scummy arse-like mouths, when i am probably wearing a jumper. In the afterlife they will only be allowed to wear pink catsuits.

Unknown said...

Will the tits make me look like this?

Regardless, I'll take them.

expateek said...

Just checking on you this morning to be sure you're ok and still breathing.

Funny, I misread the title of this post and thought it was going to be about DUST. More house rants? No, no, MUCH more amusing. I don't know how you do it, girlfriend.

Maybe you should go back to the sex shop in York and buy a corset/bustier. It'll give you a nice waist, and then you can lie around on the couch smoking cigarettes and drinking absinthe like all the best eurodrone slatterns do. Give it a whirl.

(Although you'll have to help out the CFO a bit, as I don't think his scrabbly little claws will do very well with those lacing-up things in the front.)

Waffle said...

Hmm, a popular topic!

Red Shoes - the clothes are totally yours. Totally. I will look them out, stroke them regretfully and parcel up. Oh, I'll make sure they're clean first too.. Did you ever get your chocolate clementines? I aspire to skeletal androgyny. My bust still has ambitions to run Belgium. I might let it start a political party.

KSV - now I want dwarves to carry my breasts. Damn.

Mr F - Sell them on ebay? The cat litter cake is AMAZING.

Daisy - only if by 'fantastic' you mean 'freakishly pornographic'.

LMS - pink PVC catsuits, yes. Shield your eyes!

Hosanna - I can't check! Work don't let us look at photos. But confidently, let me say YES. They will make you look like that. However 'that' is.

Expateek - every time you write "scrabbly little claws" I end up helpless with hilarity. Hee.

Anonymous said...

Red Shoes, 'skeletal androgyny' is my holy grail. It's my nirvana. My promised land. And if I ever achieve it, the world will know about it. I will literally purchase double page spreads in all the glossy mags as well as the newspapers....from Cosmo to the Economist, yo.

I'm an E and have been since teenagehood, so all ya'll can step. I always figured if the boys liked them then that can't be bad for me. And it was tottalllyy worth giving up turtlenecks and ruffly fronted/button up tops.

Waffle said...

Pochyemu - It would almost be worth wiring your jaw just to see that centrefold in The Economist...

Turtlenecks - the clue is in the name. Don't do it!

Anonymous said...

Jaywalker - every Friday when I receive my issue of The Economist, I wonder, "Hmm..what's missing here? I know! Full frontal nudity!". I mean, it shouldn't work, but it does - right??

NB. Where is my capybara please? The balloons we put up for his 'Bienvenue' party have deflated and the cake has gone stale. Perhaps he had a bad layover at Waterloo?

Red Shoes said...

Clementines, yes! Got them. Sent you an email about them... did you get it? Am trying to make them go straight to my bust size but all they want to do is increase my belly fat girth. Dammit! But also, mmmmm... heaven.

Waffle said...

Oh no! I blame the Belgian postal service. They've taken Red Shoes chocolate clementines too, the bastards.
They have probably sent him to New Jersey by mistake. Or maybe he is waiting for you in Estonia, disconsolately nibbling a sült or verivorst (is that right? I googled Estonian food)?

It totally works. They should get Warren Greenspan.

Waffle said...

Oh look! The clementines have arrived! (ps Red Shoes - I can't check mail at work, so hopefully when I get home. ALSO I have a Goop post planned for today, so check back later for Gywnnie mocking).

Maybe the capybara is on his way then? Get reblowing those balloons Pochyemu.

Léonie said...

I have been a G cup since I was fifteen and dream about being able to saunter into Topshop and grab twelve prettily-coloured bras for twenty quid but then maybe not even need to wear them at all. Oh, to be able to wear floaty things with tiny straps made from the wings of fairies and tears of kittens.

My mum and sisters are shorter and flatter-chested than I am so whenever we are all together I feel like I might clonk them round the face if I turn around too quickly. They are delicate and would not be able to withstand being knocked by the knockers. It makes me feel like a frumpy giant.

The grass is always greener, I suppose.

Red Shoes said...

It makes me feel like a frumpy giant.

You mean a hot, voluptuous giant, surely.

Anonymous said...

I finally jumped my shadow a while ago and made piece with my Boobs and bought them a D size nice Bra.
We are happy now, all three of us, sigh....
But I don't think I ever envied flat chested women....for the sake of wearing whatever they want - maybe, but not for the rest :D

katyboo1 said...

My key envy of flatter chested women is that they don't have any trouble running for a bus. I haven't had to run for a bus for a while, but crikey moses it hurts like a mother when you start pounding the pavements with your boobs going every which way, giving you black eyes, knocking out random strangers and leaping over your shoulder to catch the back of your head. Nightmare.

Having said that, my bust is not overlarge, it's just prone to being unruly and very, very naughty. Rather like men's appendages it seems to have a mind/life of its own and just does as it pleases. Not even a whip and chair helps.

You have my sympathy. I'm currently struggling with boob handles that leap over my bra top and make me look like I've sprouted udders. Disastre

Waffle said...

But Léonie, I've seen your picture in that fetish gear, and I would NEVER had said they were Gs (not that I speculated on your bra size. truly.). They must be stealth bosoms! Larger than they look! Also, what Red shoes said.

Nicole - ha, I consider mine interlopers. I won't make peace with them, I won't I won't I won't.

Katyboo - and do you have to do that thing where you basically hold on to them as you run, thus creating an even more titillating spectacle for the guys on the bus? Bra muffin top. That's what I have. Not a good look.

peevish said...

If only you could share your wealth of cleavage with me. That sounds weird, but keep reading. The only time my tits grow is when I'm making milk for a child. And I'm not planning on doing that again, ever. I do wish I'd thought to have a nice sexy photo made of me (of all people!) sporting a decent rack, before it all dried up.

Waffle said...

Peevish - I'll send you a couple of fat rascals. Better than chicken fillets any day.

Have you tried eating tonnes of trans fats? You see, this is where you are going wrong I think. All this healthy organic produce is not going to give you the cleavage you desire. Go get a bag of twixes, woman/

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