[Day 204] Cups

“NO!”

“Brianna, please, just try it on.”

Hiding behind my parent’s bed, I dodged the bra that my mother tossed at me in vain. Cowering, I frowned disdainfully at the two articles before me. One was a sports bra, which I would go on to wear for the next several years. The other was a fairly plain, regular bra that had the two triangles instead of a flat neckline. I was in third grade, and I was horrified.

I don’t know how long it took my mom to coax me into wearing that little sports bra regularly, but I’m sure it took until my female parts started really growing in to accept that a bra, like toothpaste and deodorant, was going to have to become a daily habit.

The reason I bring this cute little anecdote up is this; my mom and I went bra shopping today.

This should be a fairly painless event, but of course it couldn’t just be a routine job. See, we tried to buy a couple of cheap bras at target last week, but of course they were inadequate. So we were forced to go into the store that has become my living nightmare; Victoria’s Secret.

I hate almost everything about this store. I hate everything from the frilly thong displays to the ostentatious pink bags they make you carry around. The only thing I don’t hate is, unfortunately, the bras. As expensive as they are, they’re the only things that will hold all of my mom and I’s woman. (Gross. Sorry. Weird image there.)

From 8th to 10th grade, I was a B cup. According to this somewhat sarcastic bra size chart, that means “bare minimum”.

• A– Adolescent
• B– Bare Minimum
• C– Common Enough
• D– Dramatic
• DD– Downright Dirty
• E– Enormous
• F– Freakish
• G– Grotesque
• H– Hideous

I was ok with “bare minimum”. Boobs get in the way. Unfortunately, last year I was forced to graduate to the “common enough” level. I was up to par with my mother, which was strange.

But yesterday things got even stranger because I finished C cup graduate school to enter into a new reality; D.

D.

Dramatic.

My cup size has now surpassed my mother’s.

I didn’t post this because I thought it would get me a boyfriend. (Trust me, even my ever-expanding cup size isn’t enough to draw them in). I just wanted to remark on something that may come as a surprise to most pre and post pubescent girls:

HAVING BIG BOOBS IS NOT SOMETHING TO LOOK FORWARD TO.

There. I said it. Surprised? You shouldn’t be. What exactly do boobs do for us? They feed babies, but lets face it, if you need this option anytime before you’re 20, we have some other issues to worry about. What else? Oh, right, nothing. Boobs do NOTHING. You don’t need boobs to get a man (or woman, depending on your preference). Sure, they might aid in the bait, but if you want to reel in someone who’s worth it, I sure hope your personality is at least twice the size of your bra cup. Otherwise, have fun fishing for the rest of your life.

We as women need to move away from this mindset that small boobs= lifelong humiliation and big boobs= awesome. As someone who knows how much of a pain in the butt big boobs are, I consider myself qualified to make this next statement:

The only time the size of your boobs matters is when you have nothing else to offer.