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.


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


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?


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.

Shower Struggles

I was taking a shower tonight after midnight, as I am wont to do, when I was struck with the fear of being crushed by our glass shower door. This is not the first time either. Something is off on the track, or it needs to be oiled (greased? I don’t know, I’m not a shower door technician) and so when I try to close it, it doesn’t glide seamlessly along its track. I basically drag it into place at this point. And then stand there for a full two minutes to make sure it’s not going to come crashing down on me.

Shut up, I know you’re judging me about letting the water run considering California is in a catastrophic drought and all, but you can’t tell me what to do. I have to protect myself from the shower door. Which, incidentally, even if it DID fall off its tracks and down toward me in the shower, I would not be crushed to death. Physics doesn’t work like that, and even I know this logically. Allow me to illustrate…

shower drawing humor

I know, you’re wondering why I haven’t pursued a career as an artist. Or a physicist. This actually took me about 20 minutes to make – I thought it would be easier and then I was just in too deep to stop.

Anyway, I know I won’t REALLY be crushed by the shower door, so after I verify this fact for a few minutes, I move on with my shower.

But it doesn’t stop there. When you are at home alone (which I am tonight), it’s a scientific fact that you are more likely to be attacked by an intruder in the shower if you have shampoo in your eyes. If you get shampoo in your eyes, and you’re alone in your house showering after midnight, just accept the fact that you are the opening scene in a horror movie.

Every noise in the building has me reaching for my Venus razor, because if someone is coming after me, I’m going to seriously inconvenience them with my lady razor before they can bludgeon me to death. It’s super sharp guys, I haven’t used it for much lately.

At this point, I need to rinse my hair so that I’m no longer in danger of intruders, but this opens up a whole new problem. Have you seen Arachnophobia? Did you watch it when you were 7? Cool, me too – we should probably start a support group together.

There is a scene in the movie where the serial killer spider climbs onto the shower head, and as the girl in the movie is rinsing her hair with her eyes closed, it falls off with the water ONTO HER FACE. She doesn’t die I don’t think, but that scene scarred me for life. I would only take baths for like 2 years after that.

So once I survive the spider water, I really have to shave my legs. The bottom half at least – I have to wear a dress tomorrow, but it comes down just past my knee. OK, real talk. Balancing on one leg with the other perched up to shave can be precarious. And if you’ve ever even slightly lost your balance or slipped in the shower, you’ve experienced that feeling of utter panic that you’re going to fall in the shower, crack your head open, and they’re going to find you naked in the shower with hairy legs.

If you happen to be a fat girl, this fear is amplified even further. Honestly, that would be my nightmare to be found naked in my tub in what I can only assume would be the least flattering position ever.

I’ve had a couple ankle surgeries and have had to use a shower bench, but there was one time when I was at my parents’ house and I didn’t have it. I convinced them to bring up a plastic outdoor chair so I could sit on it in their shower and attempt to shave my 4 week post surgery wildebeest legs. Pro tip – don’t do this. I leaned forward too far and the flimsy plastic chair slipped out from under me (shocker, right??) and the only thing that gave me the strength to catch myself and not completely re-break my ankle was the utter mortification at the idea of being found naked by my parents.

Back to this evening though, I finally finished my shower and felt like Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade (I’m just full of late 80’s movie references today), making it through almost insurmountable obstacles to get to the holy grail. Which is obviously clean hair and smooth legs, ultimately putting me one step ahead of things tomorrow morning, which means an extra 30 minutes of sleep.

And honestly, that’s the main reason I take showers at night – because I’m too lazy to take them in the morning and society (and Gil) have continuously reminded me that not showering for days on end is not a viable option.

And so I share this with you to show you that for someone who really can’t turn their brain off at night, this is the kind of shit that runs through my head EVERY TIME I take a shower. But I keep doing it. For you. And for Gil. Because that’s love.