[Ed. note: Slow news day over at HuffPo]
If you’ve got C-cup or larger-sized breasts, chances are it feels like you permanently have a toddler attached to your body, and like most demanding children, they dominate your whole life. Oh yeah, you can fill out a sweater like it’s nobody’s business, and you certainly get male eyes on you, but with your giant ta-tas comes a life of watching your boobs pop out of bras, shirts and dresses like they’re rampaging bulls on the streets of Pamplona.
And if you think breasts don’t have a mind of their own, well, honey, we really have to beg to differ. Remember when you were 12 and growing mosquito bites for the first time and were so absurdly proud of yourself? Well for some of us, we went from throwing water balloons at the boys to sporting them on our chests in a little over a summer. Yeah, while guys were having shin splints from growing too tall, too fast, the big-titty-committee exploded stretch marks over bean-bag boobs that hurt if you even looked at them. I went from a training bra to a C-cup at the age of 12 and a D by my 13th birthday. It’s no wonder I was mistaken for an 18-year-old, since no one was bothering to look at my face.