No effin way!

After travelling for over 18 months, I finally realised the other day that my cup had well and truly runneth over. Well, cups–plural–to be more precise. The one shabby, stretched, ill-fitting bra I had been wearing for over a year wasn’t going to keep it up much longer. Gravity was bringing me, and my girls, down. As embarrassed as I was, I had to get them off my chest and so, off I went, to flash my stash to the fitting lady at the local department store.

The fitting lady, of course, was very discreet and didn’t bat an eye when I shyly bared my wares with a full crimson blush. She put the tape around my back, nodded, ‘mm-hmmm, thirty-four’; then, with a brief glance at my breasts, said, ‘yes, about an E cup.’

My mouth fell open. ‘An E?! Noooo…’ But my horror was short-lived, for when she came back with a selection of bras for me to try on, they were sized 32F!!! Even worse, they fit!

F was all that was going through my head. ‘Eff eff, effin eff EFF EFFFFFFFFFF?!!!!’ How could I go from a D-cup to an F-cup?! Sure, I knew that I, along with my baps, had gotten a bit bigger but it seemed unbelievable! My mamma and her mamma both carry around far more titillating bosoms than me in the grand scheme of things and I’m not even sure they have made it to the F range of the bra-lphabet. I had obviously put on far more weight than I was willing to admit.

I came home that night feeling rather heavy-chested. I still couldn’t quite believe it. Only pornstars and grandmothers had F-cups, not me, not even with all the nikksnacking I have done of late. I didn’t know how to come to terms with it. So I did what any depressed person needing a lift would do – I got on the net and (go)ogled breasts. And imagine my delight, after surfing around the virtual world of boobies for awhile, that a size 32F in the UK is pretty much equivalent to a 12DD back home in Australia. Rejoice!! I had really only gone up one size! Confidence regained, I could stand tall with my not so enormous chest out in pride.

The moral of the story, though, for any ladies living in Oz and feeling a little down under in the chest department, is that, if you’re looking for a breast enhancement, spend the cash instead on a European holiday. Not only do the beer cups go up in size over here, but it appears that bra cups do, too.