Monday, May 3, 2010


A few years back, I had this horrible car accident where I was hit from behind at about 80km while I was at a full stop.  It left me with this never ending problem of my clavicle and my first two ribs popping out of place.  Compounding upon that problem was that I was born a heavily endowed woman whose enormous chest was complicating the recovery process!  Those damn ancestral Scottish women and their big boobs had passed on their unwanted dowry to me!  No wonder the Highlanders were always smiling. After a day of slaughtering a few British, they'd go home to their women and bury their faces into those all encompassing cleavages!

And talking about cleavage, I had the kind of breasts that if you dropped a potato chip down between them, you would have needed an entire search and rescue team to find it!

Now some women, they enjoy their splendors.  I can't say that I was one of them.  They were food catchers at best, I couldn't see my toes because of them, if I rolled onto my back in the middle of the night, I would have to push them out of my face just to ensure that I didn't suffocate.  I could actually beat my better half senseless with them.  And if I stood up to fast, they would spring up and slap me in the face!  Not too mention that they seemed to lead everywhere before the rest of my body caught up.  If I walked thru the door, most likely my boobs would be the first to greet you and often reach the destination five minutes before I did.  If I walked into something, my boobs often sprung me back like a trampoline!  They were a menace, a hazzard and since they were getting saggy with age, they were becoming a bit of an embarrassment.  I had visions of them hanging on the floor by the time I was 80, or better yet, picking them off the floor and tucking them into the pockets of my pants!  Eventually, they would have become my own personal float devices. 

For most of my 20's and 30's, all my conversations with men were with their face to my boobs. Yup, I could see every dirty thought run through their heads.  In fact I actually had a guy lick his lips while staring at my breasts.

So when the time came, I had absolutely no difficulty whatsoever with the decision to have those puppies leveled down from mountains to mo hills. 

The surgery was a very painful procedure and not one that I would highly recommend to anyone.  It was 8 long weeks of recovery along with many more months of complications.  The funniest part of the surgery was that they handed me a sheet that lists all the emotions and mourning process you go thru after your surgery.  Not me, I only had a moment to spare for my boobs.  And as I was rolling into the OR, my last words  to them were "don't let the door hit you on your way out"!

It's been just over three years since I had my reduction from a Double "D", okay okay more like a Triple D, or even an E, to the joy of a small petite "B" and I can tell you I have not regretted it for one day.  I went from a wheelbarrow full to a perfect handful. My small but proud breasts now point in the right direction, instead of being a divining rod in search of water.

Would I do it again, in a heart beat!  And for all you men out there that think that big boobs are the end all be all, I have one thing to say to you:  good things really do come in small packages and my boobs are living proof!

Until Next Time.
Smooches Pooches

1 comment:

  1. Men should realize, anything more than a handful and they're risking a sprained wrist...then where would they be?


I love hearing from ya! Thanks for stopping by!