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As a small, barely there B-cup, I am the first to admit that I am not particularly boobtacular. I could spend the entire day jumping on a trampoline and not one guy would stop to watch in slack-jawed amazement.

This? This is not me.

Don’t worry, I am alright with this. Okay suuuure, I did wish for more boobage when I was younger, especially when my best friend went from an A-cup to a full C over the course of the summer between our junior and senior years of high school (leaving me behind in the dust like that? So not fair). And when one of my early ex-boyfriends told me ‘Well, it would have been nice if your tits had been bigger’ after I asked him if there had been anything I could have done differently in order to avoid our break-up? Yes, I will admit that I cried into a pint of Ben and Jerry’s and vowed to get implants someday. Luckily, time, experience and a growing confidence in myself made me abandon those foolish dreams and embrace my small boobies for the teeny-tiny wonders that they are. So while I might not fill out the top of a bikini as stunningly as some women, I do recognize that there are some benefits to being a member of the Itty Bitty Titty Club.

For example: unless I have kids at some point, I will stay perky for a long while to come. My breasts don’t hit me in the face when I run around. I can sleep on my belly if I choose to do so (I don’t but it’s nice to have options). I don’t have to deal with back problems, gawks, stares or lewd comments. I don’t have to remind men that my eyes are up here.

All that said, I have a confession to make: I am a fraud! Victoria’s Secret has made a liar out of my chest.

Since I have started to wear more dresses and generally dress more girlishly, I have adopted a theatrical interpretation of my boobs. What am I talking about? The very OMG padded push-up bra, my friends. THAT’S what I am talking about.

It’s funny to me that I have gone down this road considering how, several years ago, I shunned the boobs my mom bought for me. What?, you may ask. Your mom bought you boobs?! Alright, let me explain. My birthday was coming up and my mother spent weeks beforehand continually asked me what sort of gifts I was hoping for. Every time she did this, I answered very definitively: rollerblades. Not rollerblades and boobs. Just rollerblades (incidentally, this was a bad idea on my part — a foolish whim — when you consider I have an overwhelming fear of falling down, but that’s a story for another time). So my birthday arrives and I’ve unwrapped all my presents except for one. I can tell whatever it is, it’s not rollerblades because the box is far too small. Slightly disappointing but in the grand scheme of things, who am I to complain? I unwrap the gift and the box is for those chicken cutlet bra insert thingies. I figured that it was just an empty box my mom had (she worked at a department store at the time) and something else must be inside. Nope, they were boob cutlets. Stunned, I came up with the only explanation that made any sense: it must be a gag gift. Alas, this was not the case! My mother really did give me boobs (I could see how she would have gotten confused though; boobs are very similar to rollerblades other than the small exception that they are nothing like rollerblades. Oh, mom). I expressed polite gratitude for the gift that she was so excited to give me but also conveyed my reluctance to ‘falsely advertise’ my breasts. After all, I didn’t want to be on a date with some guy, have him slip his hand up my shirt and come away with what looked like a chicken breast. She urged me to at least try them on and promised that I could return them if I didn’t like them.

So I tried them on. They were initially cold and clammy, pretty much exactly what you would expect if you were to stick raw chicken breast fillets into your bra. I went downstairs to show my mom, to demonstrate to her what a bad idea this was. She squealed with delight: ‘You look so chesty!’ And then she fluffed them. It was like that moment in Sixteen Candles when Molly Ringwald’s grandmother gives her budding taa-taas a squeeze.

Grandma Helen: Oh, and they are so PERKY.

Yeeeeeah. I exchanged them for a sweater.

Yet now, here I am. Years later. Wearing a push-up bra that has been padded to high holy heaven and giving the world the mistaken impression that I am a stunning C-cup. What can I say? These LIES UPON MY CHEST fill out my girly outfits oh-so-nicely.

Besides, it’s totally okay. I already have a boyfriend. And he is fully aware of what he’s gettin’.

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