The Rack of Doom…amongst other things

August 10, 2008 maydarling

So, hanging around Shapely Prose, I ran across a post about the Rack of Doom (and their sisters, the Tiny Titties of Terror) and it got me to thinking about my own Rack-y experiences.

Sometimes, I underestimate their size.

For instance, I try to squeeze by someone in a crowded place and having squeezed my butt appropriately as to not brush against one of the unwashed masses, I left the chesticle area wide open.

Do you know how utterly gross it is to have your tit brush against someone you don’t know? Ew. Ew.

I went and got measured for a new bra. Well, this was awhile ago. And I have since (rather unintentionally) lost some weight. And it’s come off of my back. So my band size has changed. Back has gone down, titties remain the same.

I used to think that if I lost weight, my boobs would go down. Such is conventional wisdom. So much for conventional wisdom. Seems even though I’m a fat chick, my particular brand of breasts are not very fatty at all. Pretty much the same with my mother, who was a relatively small woman most of her life, was still pretty booby. Same with my gran. We’re booby and not hippy. The opposite of a pear. If there was a fruit that resembled such.

But I fit into some of my favorite things a little bit better. But the problem now arises that some of my *other* favorite things (such as my True Religion jeans) are hanging off my ass.

That is very problematic because of how much those jeans cost. I wanted at least a couple of years wear from them.

See, I learned a long time ago not to shop cheaply, or often, but *well* It’s worth it to save up the extra pennies and spend the money on things that you will wear every day. Like jeans. People scoff at expensive jeans. But when you think about how much time the average person spends in a pair of jeans, doesn’t it make sense to have those jeans fit you like a dream?

Unfortunately, those dreams are slowly becoming nightmares. Because I need a belt for them.

I hate belts.

I now own two of them.

I had planned on having enough fat to hold them up sans belt. So much for planning.

But back to the rack o’doom.

I never thought my rack was very doomy. My rack and I have had a pretty good time together. We get along. But then came the day when I discovered that I could fit everything about my body into a dress at Ann Taylor Loft EXCEPT…yes. The rack. Shock, shock horror. But despite that, I have never once considered reduction.

You know why?

I love my boobs. They lend my hipless body curve and femininity. They don’t make my back hurt. (my back makes my back hurt) And they rarely cause a problem. If I were going to do anything to them, I’d get them lifted. Not so jazzed about the saggy part. But then I’m terrified to go under the knife. People die from “routine” liposuction and from going to the dentist. Sigh.

So I must make peace with this body I’ve inherited. And start planning my next trip.

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Entry Filed under: body issues

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