lola

I WANT BIG TITTIES!

Big Titties. That's all I want for Christmas, Santa -- and a million dollars. I swear I've been a good girl.

Since my twenties, I've debated on and off whether I'd get implants if I had the spare change to dedicate to my cosmetic surgery fund. You see, I'm convinced God was distracted (probably by Mary Magdalene) when he was designing my womanly curves and mistook my ass for my chest. So he doubled up on the booty and completely neglected my upper region. And when I say I got a booty I ain't x-gerating. I once had two black guys, who were walking behind me, run up and look at my face to verify if I was white. After they confirmed, the following announcement was made, "Damn Girl. You got the booty of a black girl." They weren't disappointed, just surprised. Pleasantly surprised, I think.

I get it - my ass are my tits, but still my body feels disproportionate without reasonably sized boobs. Kim Kardashian has a booty, but she also has the titties to go with it. And not only are my titties small, but they're also strangely shaped. Think 1990's Madonna cone boobs. That's what I got. Seriously, God?! My mother, who's almost sixty has a nicely shaped C cup, a normal ass and perfect legs - no cellulite, stretch-marks, nothing. I've had stretch-marks since I was nineteen and I don't even want to talk about my cellulite.

And I'm so tired of the consolation, "Your boobs will grow when you fall pregnant." Seriously?! That's the most inconvenient time EVER to have big boobs. Post baby, trying to lose baby fat, leaky milky breasts. Ewwwwwwwwwwwwww.

I associate "I want big breasts" with I would like to enhance my sex appeal. Not check out my floppy milky muffins and my raw nipples. Not to mention I'd be all ripped up and healing inside - a very unsexual time in a woman's life. I've never heard a female say, "I'm oh-so-horny" post baby. "Time to flaunt these suckers before they deflate and sag." Great, that's a depressing thought. The one time in my life I can look forward to having big breasts naturally will probably result in them looking even worse then they did when they were small and insignificant after they've served their purpose of storing the milk. I prefer to keep my mini-mes the way they are, then have them drag across the ground.

Ultimately, I'd like bigger breasts so I can feel more womanly. I look all J Lo from the waist down and like a nine year old girl from the waist up. I'm so jealous of those Latin girls with their knockers bulging out of their bikini tops on the beach, oozing with sex appeal. They don't design bikini tops for cone boobs.

Sometimes I buy the bras with the padding, but it doesn't help me feel any better about the situation. If anything it makes me sad. My boyfriend says, "I like your boobs." But I know he's lying. There's not much to grab. Sometimes when we're laying beside each other, his man boobs look greater in size. My boobs fold out to the side and disappear where one could even question their existence at all.

Guys love boobs. I worked on a military base for two and half years. Based on that experience and all the conversations I overheard I can attest that the majority of guys love boobs. They may not marry boobs, but they share a deep affinity for them. They love to watch them, they love to feel them, they love to talk about them and there are many things they love to do with them or to them if given the opportunity. I wouldn't know -- boob activity hasn't been prevalent in my sex life -- obviously. But guys love their boobs. Which is why Hooters was such a clever concept. Hot wings, beer and boobs -- that's probably the guy version of heaven. Where do men go when they die? They go straight to Hooters, where they will drink beer, eat hot wings and observe boobies for all eternity.

My small humps, little lady lumps, have no chance of competing in the world of major league hooters -- thank God life is not based on them. Sometimes I'd go to Hooters with the boys because I was just as fascinated as they were by this big boob phenomenon. Wow! God put those watermelons on your body?!

I admit I have grabbed a woman's boob. I was curious, okay?! And possibly drunk. I would never touch a friend's boob. That's totally weird, but an unknown lady stranger with a nice rack - sure. Oh, and I have flashed once -- in Idaho Lava Hot Springs where I will more than likely never return. I was there for a month in this bushy area with few residents. Mainly people with holiday get-away homes and trailers and I was invited to this barbecue for someone's birthday. All of the women at the party were up to twenty years older than me, but they were as wild as the wildflowers that grew there (I think they were repressed Mormons from Utah if I remember correctly) - flashing, dry humping each other etc. Hardcore hippy bush culture. Anyway, I was the only one who refused to flash. Really?! Why would you even want to see my smallies? I said I'd do it for a hundred dollars. And yep, a man, who was probably closer to my father's age, slapped a hundred dollar bill on the table and I gave the crowd a quick look. It was more of a tease. Then I immediately grabbed my keep and exclaimed, "Was that really worth it?" My paranoia was obvious, but I received man compliments like, "I think you have very nice boobs." Aww, so sweet. And, NO, you cannot touch them. Meanwhile I think your wife is dirty dancing with another man.

I will never flash my boobs again. Once - experimentally, is enough. Journalistic purposes let's say.

Recently, however, there's been a lot of talk about boobs and not in that male fantasy kind of way, which made me realize I've been a superficial boob tard. First it was breast cancer awareness month in October, then I read a story about a celebrity undergoing a double mastectomy, followed by a news article on implants linked to breast cancer. And I thought to myself, people have way BIGGER problems with boobs than my little debate on whether I need the silicone to improve my appearance. Also, that last one about implants linked to breast cancer (I think it was in France) really drove the fear home. BECAUSE I don't have enough problems, why not inject some cancer into my breasts. No Thanks. Not even tempted to take the risk. I don't care who doesn't approve of my small breasts, it's better than having no breasts. Really, I don't even know how I would get through the surgery. I do not enjoy pain. Also, I had a friend with fake boobs who'd always complain about lower back pain. I'll pass.

My small breasts make me who I am and seriously how would I feel about having implants at 80 years old -- if I make it that far. Grandkids running around, snickering about gradma's rumored fake titties. They'll probably start making up stories about how grandma was a porn star back in the day. I mean these implants have the potential to ruin my grandma-granchild relations. Don't hug grandma, you might get knocked out by her rock solid knockers. And what if I start suffering from real medical issues. You know what Henry, these breast implants are really heavy and hard to walk around in ever since I had that hip replacement. I mean it's not very practical. So I've decided to let the boob thing go.

Don't worry about the boobies Santa, I'll just take the million dollars instead.

Kisses
Lola Berlin
(xoxo)

PREACHY ADVICE: To all people with titties, even if you have small suckers like me -- get checked regularly for lumps etc. Because I CARE ABOUT YOUR BOOBIES!

COPY-WRITE © LOLA BERLIN 2011