After a few positive pregnancy tests and a couple of slaps on the cheek from my doctor, I finally grasped the reality that I was, indeed, pregnant. “How could this be?” I asked myself, hoping that it was all just a dream. You see, right before I became pregnant, I had worked really hard to get a stomach that even Shania Twain would be envious of. And now, just like that, it was over.
Once I got past the idea of weight gain and stretch marks, I started to focus on the many positives of pregnancy. Of the many positives I would soon discover, my husband started “discovering” them first: My meager “barely Bs” soon became full-blown “mega-Cs.” At this point, my soon-to-be bundle of joy was still the size of a grape, so I took advantage and started struttin’ around town like I was Hef’s “Miss May.” Whistles? Yeah, I got them. Those accidental booby-glances that my husband’s buddies would give me were forgiven, for I was finally the curvaceous woman I had considered paying thousands to become.
How did I celebrate this bountiful gift? By shopping the “big bra” section at Victoria’s Secret, of course. My old training bras just could not support the greatness of my new Cs, and waiting any longer to purchase those much-needed bigger bras would only result in the appearance of quad-boobs losing circulation as they spilled out of my B cups.
I was nervous as I approached the sweet-smelling store in the mall, but that was short lived as I noticed my reflection in the display windows. The lighting seemed to accentuate my girls, and I could now walk into this store with a purpose. As I approached the salesgirl, I thought to myself, “Small-booby girls across America, this one is for you!” I have finally reached the top of the mountain, or should I say “mountains,” of boob envy and can confidently shop where none of us have been before—that’s right, the C section.
“Ahem” I began. “Yes? May I help you?” the salesgirl replied. “Yes, ma’am. I need to know where the” (I pointed my chest out just a little more than it already was, then continued), “C-cup bras can be located.” She gave me the old once-over, then pointed to her left and said, “They’re over there—with the As and Bs.”
If my boobies were balloons, they would have deflated right then and there. With my ears back and tail between my legs, I went and picked out a new bra, paid for it and drove home … not feeling quite as big-headed or big-boobed as I had before. Thanks a lot, skinny salesgirl, for smashing my fantasy to smithereens. The overall positive? My boobies stayed Cs so, skinny salesgirl, a “ha-ha” to you. I’ll be back!
Submitted by Vanessa Antoine