If there were an NSPCC equivalent for boobs then mine would probably be in care. I haven’t been very nice to my boobs. In fact, they are suffering from a severe case of neglect.
I’ve got size 32DD boobies and I do everything in my power to conceal them. I am an expert in minimiser bras (the best ones are from M&S by the way) and finding clothes that hide any hint of a bulge (loose shirts are always a winner). My sports bra is so tight that I struggle to breathe (extremely unhelpful during a legs, bums and tums) and I would feel more comfortable wearing a batman costume than a dress that revealed my cleavage. I don’t even like that word. It sounds like an STD. ‘I’ve got a nasty case of cleavage.’
Essentially, what I’d really love are little, pert, cute, size B puppies. You know. Those boobs that don’t really need a bra. Those boobs that sit happily up like springer spaniels waiting for treats. Those boobs that laugh in the face of a strapless, silky dress. Ah, how I would love to buy those pretty, lace balcony bras rather than heading straight for the Mammary Gland lingerie.
You see what I mean about being mean? I don’t think I’ve ever said a nice word to my poor glands. They just sit there, doing their job and doing it very well and all I do is complain. Enough.
I’ve grown up in the Kate Moss era where gamine is God. As a teenager I used to stare at the models in magazines and long for their fragile, boyish frames. It was a time before street style (a wonderful, celebration of different bodies) and TOWIE – big boobs just weren’t ‘in’.
But I have recently felt a shift in myself. In a world where people pay thousands for painful surgery to enlarge their breasts, I should be embracing my boobies. I should wiggle them and jiggle them and set them free. I should wine them and dine them and dress them up.
The more I realise how ungrateful I’ve been, the more I realise how ridiculous it is to fight against the body shape you naturally have. Oh the time I’ve wasted thinking that the grass is greener makes me cringe. After thirty-two years of boob embarrassment, it’s now time to give them some love. I need to invest in a few good, pretty bras and maybe even experiment with a bit of cleavage (there’s a cream for that I’m sure). I need to remind myself that I Am A Woman and it’s OK to have curves. In fact, it’s more than OK – it’s lovely. And I need to start saying positive things to my breasts. And I must remember not to do this out loud.
Yes, 2013 is the year for Boobie Love, and I’m sure my puppies will appreciate this.