Breasts: the bane of my existence

Illustration by Zach Phillips

Illustration by Zach Phillips

It’s Christmas of 2006 and the only thing I want is boobs.

As an 11-year-old, boobs are very important to me. My 13-year-old sister has boobs and my friends are developing little 11-year-old pancake boobs. I have nothing. I’m desperate enough to ask Santa to have mercy and grant me the gift of large breasts.

My mother still likes to remind me, “You asked Santa and Santa gave ’em to you!” Thank you for informing me, once again, that it’s my fault for “asking Santa” to make me disabled.

Running is now impossible. No sports bra that I know of, and I know of them all, securely holds the twins in place. Not that I exercise. It would just be nice to throw on a sports bra to get Taco Bell on a Sunday morning when I’m too hungover to deal with the clasps on a regular bra.

Forget about flowing shirts. I’d like to think that I have somewhat of a slender waist; a real nice, hourglass shape. Unfortunately, I face the daily challenge of finding a way to accentuate my waist without looking like a stripper.

If I wear a shirt that doesn’t cling to my body, I usually end up looking like a potato sack or plump peasant. My boobs create a canopy-like effect for the rest of my body. If I wear a tight shirt, my waist is clearly exposed but so are my gigantic knockers. Thus, the dilemma continues.

Big boobs aren’t all bad, though.

They’ve kept me entertained for years. Sometimes, I like to just hold them while I watch TV. I don’t know why.

They’ve been a defense mechanism. When my sisters and I get into fights, I flash my boobs at them and they scream and run away. I don’t know why I do this, but I have for years and still think it’s hilarious. No one else feels this way.

They’ve brought some much needed drama into my life too. While talking to some dude at a party, he bent over and motorboated me. I slapped him and made a scene while drunkenly yelling about feminism. It was perfect.

I love every part of me, including my boobs. However, it’s getting harder for me to say no when my grandma offers to pay for a breast reduction every Christmas, since Santa has yet to come through on that wish.

Madison Holmes can be reached at [email protected] or @madisonholmes95 on Twitter.