When I Thought My Boobs Had Flesh Eating Bacteria, And Other Problems

As of yesterday I was firmly convinced I was suffering from some horrible disease. Without even Googling it, I surmised my left boob must have somehow contracted some sort of flesh eating bacteria and that the rest of my body was not far behind.

There were these divet like holes in my left boob when I took off my bra yesterday, which is what led me to this completely rational conclusion. I say “yesterday” and not “last night” because I speak the truth and the truth is, fuck bras. As someone with G cups I probably shouldn’t be saying that, but there it is. Although word to the wise – don’t go braless in the bathroom – it ends badly.

Anyway, these FLESH EATEN HOLES weren’t exactly holes – more like little craters… like what a really bad acne scar might leave behind. I have a lot of struggles in life, but thankfully boobs covered in huge cystic acne isn’t one of them, so I knew it wasn’t that. So OBVIOUSLY it must be some kind of flesh eating disease.

Except that this morning when I woke up, they were gone. Or rather, when I remembered my panic from yesterday at around noon today and I investigated my tit, they were gone. I’m starting to suspect that it may NOT have been a one day flesh eating bacteria, but rather that I wound up with crumbs in my bra, and they actually left some serious indentations.

The only reason I’m willing to even concede this as a possibility is that last week after a particularly aggressive snacking session, I actually found 2 entire tortilla chips in my bra. That I didn’t notice until hours after I was done with my chips and salsa. I feel you processing that statement. Stop it. Don’t judge me until you’ve walked a mile in my bra.

I have yet to put on a bra today, so there has been no possibility of crumb trappage and so far, my boobs are looking the way they should (minus sitting about 3 inches higher, but whatever).

But while we’re on the subject, this is just one in a line of many struggles I have had with my big boobs. Melons. Tatas. Bozongas. Whatever. Big ol’ titties.

So I present to you my top five big boobs struggles (not including thinking you have flesh eating bacteria because of crumbs in your bra, since we’ve already covered that. Probably more than you ever thought you’d read about it).

Seat belts

Seriously. If it’s not getting trapped between my boobs and awkwardly cutting into me, it’s tucked underneath making them look even more indecent, and probably not going to hold me in properly if I were to actually crash. There is no good place for it.

Necklaces

Speaking of no good place to put it, when you have big boobs, your necklace game is limited. Want to wear a great long lariat necklace? Nope, your boobs will completely eat it, and it can get totally lost. Basically looks like you’re flossing your chest. Wearing a killer layered bubble necklace? Beware – the length can create a problem, and so can the shirt you pair it with. It can easily get lost in the abyss. Exhibit A:

necklace big boobs

Massages

OK, so this one is tricky because I’m not only large chested, but I’m also a plus size girl, so getting comfortable on those tables can be a challenge, and frankly a little embarrassing at times. Luckily, I have found an amazing massage therapist who helped me figure out a solution without making me self-conscious, and she’s the first. We just double up the head pillow so when I lay on my tummy my boobs aren’t completely suffocating me. Since my head is riding higher, I can breathe, and the position totally works for me. But up until her, that was definitely something that hindered my enjoyment of massages and caused a decent amount of anxiety.

Accidentally looking provocative 

“It’s not my fault!!” This was basically my mantra in high school every time my mom would chastise me for showing too much skin. Seriously, I was just buying clothing that fit, but my high school DD’s had a way of making even plain t shirts look a lot more… adult. I can be wearing exactly the same thing as one of my smaller friends and I will look as if I’m “trying” to show off more skin. Because I have more skin. It’s a catch-22 really – I love the way I fill out so many things, but when I’m heading into an interview and the button on my shirt pops open, that’s not how I want to get the job, you know?

Bras

I know. There are endless articles out there about how to get measured properly and find the right bra no matter what size, but I have to say, I’m still searching for my unicorn. Most days it’s a battle between adjusting the shoulder straps and waiting in fear for the underwire to bust and hoping I’m wearing my glasses at the time so I don’t lose an eye. Heads up pregnant friends – no promises I won’t give your kid a black eye if the underwire gives out when I’m holding it – they have a mind of their own. At this point, I’m totally into this wireless bra from Lane Bryant – it’s missing the support of a regular bra, but DAMN it’s comfortable. That will have to be my baby holding bra. I have to protect the children.

There are other struggles to be sure, but these are the ones that top my list right now. Not that I’m complaining really – I wouldn’t trade my boobs for anything, but there are definitely days when they make things a little more challenging. And days when I think they’re trying to kill me, when in reality it’s the tortilla chips that are after me.

Big Boobs Battle Scars

I love my boobs. I really do. My bra size is somewhere around 42G at this point, mainly because I’ve gained weight recently (but we won’t get into that right now). But even before that, I was always a top heavy girl. And I embraced it – there are a lot of things that look really great when you’ve got the cleavage to fill it out, and Christina Hendricks is my girl crush and style icon who knows how to rock her figure on the red carpet. Damn, girl.

But as those “Busty Girl Problems” comics have pointed out, there are some pitfalls to living the ample bosom life. From struggling to find a bra that will hold you up and in without resembling something your grandmother would wear, to battling where to put the seat belt, to strategically trying to position yourself when you lay face down for a massage, there are certain things that present more of a challenge.

By the time the end of the day rolls around, my bra feels like an underwire prison and all I want is to let my magnificent melons be free.

I am constantly taking of my bra as I’m walking from room to room in the condo – you can find bras in the living room, hooked on the handle of the bathroom door, or on the floor next to the bed, flung aggressively off my body as soon as possible. For someone who needs as much support as I do, I literally almost never wear a bra at home.

But I have a warning for my fellow busty beauties… beware going braless in the bathroom. I was in the bathroom getting ready for work a couple of months ago, and I wasn’t quite ready to strap in for the day. I mean, 4 hooks in the back and more underwire than I know what to do with? I’ll put that shit off as long as possible, thankyouverymuch.

I was running late (as usual) and scrambling to get out of the house at a reasonable hour without resembling a sea creature. I threw on some makeup, brushed my teeth and then caught a glimpse of my hair. My unwashed, dark roots showing, scraggly ass hair. I didn’t have time to wash it, but I grabbed the dry shampoo and plugged in the curling iron. Can you see where this is going?

While the curling iron was heating up, I threw on my pants and shoes and headed back into the bathroom where my bra was hanging. OK, I had a choice here: throw a couple curls into my hair and then put on my bra, or the other way around? I went curls first. Wrong decision. Terrible decision. Awful decision. Never make that decision ladies. Although before I tell you exactly what happened, I want to point out that I did make it through the actual curling of my hair unscathed – I’m a wizard with my curling iron at this point. No, the trouble came when I was finishing up, and had already turned off the curling iron and just needed to put on some mascara. I did the unthinkable. I LEANED OVER. I FUCKING LEANED OVER WITHOUT A BRA ON.

When yIllustration of a Woman Using Curling Iron to Style Her Hairou have natural boobs that are that size, they are PENDULOUS. And they hang lower than you think they do ladies. I barely had time to register the pain of the burn when my boob made contact with the still-hot curling iron. It happened so fast, and it’s all a little fuzzy at this point. I won’t go into details (because it’s disgusting) but keep in mind how delicate the skin on breasts is. It went the way you think it did.

I hit the ground without realizing I’d even dropped, but there I was, writhing on the bathroom floor in pain and clutching my naked chest. I don’t even want to know what it looked like, but I have to imagine it was not one of my finer moments. I don’t even remember if Gil was still home at that point or if he was pounding on the door, but all I can say is that I’m thankful the door was closed. We have seen each other in some compromising positions over the course of living together, but me flopping around like a wounded manatee clutching my boob and screaming, “WHY? OH GOD, WHY?” in some twisted naked version of that Nancy Kerrigan scene seems like something that can wait until we are a few more years in.

And what do you do about a quarter sized burn on your milky white breast? I couldn’t go to work without a bra – it would be indecent. All I could do was keep it clean, and cover that shit with a leopard print Band-Aid until it healed.

And now I bear the battle scars my friends. A mark on my otherwise wondrous tatas that will forever remind me of the dangers of having big boobs in the bathroom. A mark to remind me that when I’m running late, the best solution is a messy topknot or a baseball hat. A mark to remind me to always keep the counters clear, and to NEVER EVER lean over without a bra strapped tightly around my chest. A mark to prove the struggle is real, people.