Why Boobs Are Never TOO Big (also, the time I was molested at a Walmart)

I developed early.  Fifth grade, to be exact.  One second I was tiny, normal Dawn.  I had a pencil figure and due to crappy parents you could almost see my ribs.  Then, suddenly:

BOOM.  There they were, bouncing around.  Suddenly, people could tell if I got cold.  It sort of hurt whenever I jumped.  I felt weird, because the rest of my friends had tiny or no boobs, and I was already up to a B-cup.  Finally, I moved in with my grandmother, and my sister was kind enough to pass on to me her old sports bra.  It was the bra I wore for the next two years--it smashed me down to minimal size, which is just what I wanted--I was self-concious and a lot of the time I would be looking up quack-methods of shrinking my boobs--I even stopped eating for a week and only drank water in hopes of the starvation bringing them down in size.  But no, instead, I just ended up going to the bathroom a lot and gaining ten pounds when I began eating again.

By eighth grade, I wore baggy, thick clothes so that no one would know about my humiliation.  By then, I was a c-cup and had become slightly chubby.  No amount of dieting I did made any of the weight go away and because of it I became more insecure than I already was.  I hadn't been fitted by anyone besides a hispanic walmart lady with bad english, so, in a sense, I had never been fitted.  I was still wearing sports bras and hadn't even thought of underwire.

Finally, we went to walmart in the transition from 8th to 9th grade and I was walking around in the bra section.  The lady who had fitted me wasn't there, and I liked that because she made me feel awkward.

Just as I walked past the fitting section, I stopped for a moment to glance at the "teenager bras".  How menacing they all looked.  I glanced at them for only a second before I went to walk away, when I abruptly heard:

"Hey!  You!  With the short hair."  I turned around, and there she was.  The woman would would save my self-esteem.  She was made up only slightly, and was wearing a too-small button-up shirt over flare-legged jeans and she looked amazing.  She was giving me a presumptuous look and tapping her foot while she looked me up and down.

"What?"  I asked.  I was already having a bad day, I didn't need some complete stranger to tell me she could tell the temperature just by looking at my chest.  I gave her the biggest glare I could muster.  She rolled her eyes and guestered.  "Come over here.  You need some help."

I'm not sure why, but I obeyed her order and I walked over to her.  I don't even know if she was an employee there.  She took out a measuring tape from off the counter and told me to put my arms out at my sides.  I can't believe I let her measure me, but I did.  After two minutes, she put the measuring tape away.  "Come with me."  I followed her to the teenager bras again, and she stood by me and said "Pick the kind you like."

I glared at her for a second before I looked at the wall.  My eyes were assaulted with color--it felt like I had stepped into a hippy's hallucination.  Rainbow bras, red bras, blue bras, bras with color combinations I never thought looked good, lacy bras, sexy bras, training bras, and kid bras were in front of me and I was confused.  After a moment of searching, I pointed to a rack of underwire pink and blue striped bras.  She smiled.  "Excelent choice." and she grabbed one of them and shoved it at my chest.  "Try this on and come out."

Once in the dressing room, I took off my shirt, then my tank top.  I looked over at myself in the mirror.  I sighed, it was cold and I felt like crap just looking at myself.  My chest was huge, too big.  I took off the sports bra and fumbled around with the real bra until I figured out how the clasps worked.  Then I looked at myself in the mirror.

At first, all I really noticed was the color.  I liked it.  I thought it was cute.  Then I kept looking.  The more I saw, the more I liked.  My boobs weren't spilling over the cups.  They fit snugly, nicely.  I turned to the side.  It looked pretty.

I looked in the full body mirror, then, with a look of doubt, made the final test.  I jumped up and down, then gaped.  It didn't look stupid.  It wasn't a bounce-up-enough-to-hit-you-in-the-chin-and-hurt-you-when-you-come-back-down kind of bounce, it was a nice, slight, dare I say, sexy bounce.

It was there in that dressing room that I had the epiphany--Big boobs weren't horrible.  They weren't disgusting.  They were beautiful.  They were sexy.  I could use them to get what I wanted.  I could flirt.  I was sexy and beautiful.  For the first time, I felt pretty.

I put my other clothes back on and came out, a huge smile on my face.  I went to find the woman and thank her, but I never did.  She wasn't there, and I couldn't find her.  After that, I went into the clothing section and grabbed all the sexy tops that fit me.  My grandmother was ecstatic and flipped out when I dropped a teenager bra into the cart.  "You're growing up!"  She said.

Now, three years later, I'm a size D, going into the doubles.  Still haven't been professionally fitted, but that woman brought my self-esteem to new grounds.  My friends and I joke about the times I can be a tease, which I can.  To this day, I have flirted my way into hundreds of dollars of free merchandise, just for wearing a low-cut shirt.  I think of myself as sexy.  I think of myself as beautiful.

And you know what?  The back pain is totally worth it.

EDIT:  Okay, yesterday I went and got professionally fitted.  34DD!  Holy shit!