Everybody Needs a Bosom for a Pillow …

… but some pillows are bigger than others!

 

Boobs.  Hooters.  Jugs.  Melons.  Bazookas.  Tits.  The list of nicknames for women’s breasts is endless as men’s fascination with them never seems to cease.  As a woman ‘blessed’ with big boobs, I don’t get the appeal.  Well, I do.  I understand men are visual creatures, and boobs are just so there aren’t they?  But it’s just flesh, right?  There’s no Page 4 in the Sun for sexy knees.  Hugh Heffner doesn’t fill the Playboy Mansion with women who have good shoulders.  You get my point.

 

The morning I turned 13 I woke up and the Boob Fairy had visited during the night and left me a huge pair strapped to my once flat chest.  As the male population used to comment as I grew up (sometimes silently, more often not), “bloody hell, look at them.”  Exactly what I thought that morning.  I don’t remember them appearing gradually.  They were always big and I have always wanted smaller ones.

 

I remember being on my first girl’s holiday abroad at 17 and walking down the street in Ibiza’s San Antonio (classy, I know).  I vividly remember wearing white jeans, sandals and a pink halterneck top and by the time I got to the end of the street, I was in tears.  Everybody stared.  The men wolf whistled or shouted obscenities that everyone, apart from me, found hilarious.  I wish it hadn’t bothered me.

 

I laughed it off as best as I could through the tears but I was never the kind of girl who loved that kind of attention.  I didn’t wear short skirts when all my friends did and although not exactly shy, I always preferred to keep myself more covered up.

 

As the years went on, I got used to the ‘hilarious’ one-liners:  “You don’t get many of them to the pound,” being a particular favourite and as I grew more confident, the comments bothered me less.

 

My mum ended up having a breast reduction operation in her 40’s and, complications aside, it was one of the best things she ever did for herself.  The backache and deep, red grooves in her shoulders were gone and she could finally find clothes to fit her.  Having seen what she went through, however, I don’t think I’m brave enough to go through it and I’m lucky that I don’t have the same physical problems she did.  I always make sure I do chest exercises at the gym because strengthening the muscles underneath is about all I can do to make them look as best as their size will allow.

 

The battle of Me Vs. Mother Nature is on!!!

 

So for all the ladies who wish they had bigger boobs, take some heart in knowing that having big boobs isn’t all it’s cracked up to be and well, let’s face it, we’re never happy with what we’ve got so we need to embrace what we do have.

 

Or get someone else to embrace them for you.

 

 

Isms and Schisms – Part One

I’m sure we all have our little irks and quirks, you know, those ‘special’ ways about us that make us unique. And annoying. Very annoying.

Some of us, however, have more than others. The older I get, the fussier I get. The less tolerant of ignorance I get. The more easily irritated I get!!!!

And breathe … so, in an attempt to get my ‘isms’ under some modicum of control (or, for the Friends fans out there, my Monica-isms), I thought I’d compile a list of them. When I began writing this, I thought it was a good idea. I’m not so sure now: Continue reading “Isms and Schisms – Part One”

Judgement Call

My scone and I were busy minding our own business today when two very fat ladies entered the café.   They weren’t just big-boned (an ‘explanation’ often nodded in my direction growing up).  No, these ladies were really fat.  I don’t know if it’s PC to say fat and quite frankly I don’t care.  I’m not judging.  Hell, not in a position to really am I?

Anyway, my pot of jam began calling to me, “eat me, eat me,” and I returned to more important matters.  However, not everyone else seemed able to.  A couple in their 60’s who were sat near me couldn’t take their eyes off these ladies.  Nudges followed gasps when the ladies thighs didn’t fit onto the chairs and hung down, their legs akimbo. Continue reading “Judgement Call”

Take the strain …

I love Pilates.  I may have mentioned that once or twice.  However, an incident happened in class earlier this week that I couldn’t help but share. Least of all because I was just thankful it happened to an old lady and not me.  Hey, what can I say?!  Watch the video and tell me you’d rather this happened to you!

Pilates is HARD work!

So just an FYI to all of you devotees out there, don’t strain too hard!

Belief?

Having promised myself that I would avoid writing about politics and religion, I lied.  It’s religion’s turn today.  For those amongst us who err on the less religious side, please carry on reading, I promise it won’t be painful.

My mother-in-law visited us this week.  It was lovely to see her as she lives in London and, although we go up to visit her there whenever we can, she hasn’t been able to come down lately due to ill health.  So it was a treat, especially for our youngest, as she’s the only Grandma he has now.  At least in this world. Continue reading “Belief?”

The Botox Bandit

I walked into my local Marks & Spencer store today and was greeted by the theme tune to the Rockford Files.  Quite how they’re unable to afford more up to date music I don’t know, but hey, it was a nostalgic three minutes.

For those of you lucky enough to be too young to remember this American show from the 70’s, James Garner played a Private Investigator that lived with his Dad in a caravan.  I might have made that second bit up, but it was definitely James Garner.

As invariably everything is these days, it was just another reminder of my impending birthday this year – the big 4-0.  Now, generally speaking, I’m doing my best to embrace this forthcoming decade.  At least outwardly.  On the inside, I’m bordering on petrified. Continue reading “The Botox Bandit”

Dear Diary …

My eldest said to me yesterday, “have you spoken to Nanny lately?” and for a split second, I had to stop and think.  That split second of doubt is still there after all this time.  But he had meant, had I gone to her grave.  “No love, not for a while,” I replied.  We continued our trip to Blockbuster because that’s what you have to do – carry on as normal.

Continue reading “Dear Diary …”

Wine Vs. Beer

According to a new study, drinking beer rather than wine can help you slim. You can lose 10lbs in a year if you swap two glasses of red wine a night for a pint of beer. Partial to the occasional pint of lager on a hot summer’s day (still drunk in two half pint glasses though, a habit from when I cared what people thought), I figured it was worth reading on.

Apparently, if you were to swap wine for beer for a week, it would reduce more calories than an hour’s jogging (or, in my case, walking). There are people out there actually advocating drinking beer instead of exercising! Thankfully, most of us are too savvy to take this study literally, but wouldn’t it be great if it worked! The calories literally melted away the more you drank! Continue reading “Wine Vs. Beer”

Smelly balls …

As I looked through the past statuses (statii?) on my Facebook history, I came across this gem:

“Let’s all imagine we’re having a wee.  Ok, stop mid-flow and now roll from side to side like a baby.”

At first, I wondered if I’d stumbled upon someone else’s weird sexual practice, and then realised it was just me talking about Chi Ball.

For the purposes of research, and my continued attempt to get buns (and stomach and thighs) of steel, I had just attended my first Chi Ball class. Run by the brilliantly camp Mark, the class was a mixture of functional core training, deep breathing, relaxation and dancing around to Middle Eastern music.  All whilst holding a small rubber ball that gives off a perfumed aroma as it heats up.  I promise you, I’m not making this up. Continue reading “Smelly balls …”

Educating WitWitWoo

When I decided to do a degree at the ripe old age of 36, I think it shocked a lot of people, not least of all me.  I had recently lost my mum to a sudden heart attack and I found myself in limbo.  I had never even taken A-levels, so why a degree now?  Partly, because I had worked as someone else’s right hand woman for nearly twenty years and I wanted to know whether I could be something different.  Partly, because I needed to fill a huge void that had arisen through losing someone so close.  But mostly, because I always wondered.  Could I do this?

Continue reading “Educating WitWitWoo”