It’s official. I’m old. All of you who said 30 wasn’t old, you lied. Liar, liar, pants on fire!
I’m here to tell all you 20-somethings that it’s all downhill once you turn 30. First, you turn 30. Then…boob shrinkage.
Gentlemen, I apologize if you were hoping to find a sports-related post.
The other day Becky and I went to Maggie Moo’s to try the new Cocoa Caramel ice cream. Delish! (You remember Becky? She’s my ice cream partner in crime.)
We noticed a new intimates store next to a nearby bar (Genius or idiotic placement? You decide.), and the words “Free Bra” beckoned to us.
After measuring us, the lady left to grab some bras…without telling me my size.
She returned with a 36B.
Exsqueeze me? I’ve been a 36C for as long as I can remember. I even have a couple bras that are 34Ds. When I was younger, the twins sprouted overnight into a full C cup. I skipped the training bra, dammit!
This must be some type of mistake. I put the bra on to show her my breasts were gonna spill out of that sucker.
But they didn’t. What the frick…. This can’t be happening to me! My breasts shrunk. Is this related to my lack of Pop-Tarts? I knew Pop-Tarts made penises bigger, but apparently, they make boobs bigger, too.
Me: Becky, my chest shrunk!
She had no sympathy for me because she’s a DD, but she did offer to give me one or two of her cup sizes.
Then the lady brought me another bra. Also a 36B. Before sobbing hysterically on the floor, I decided to hold it together until I had confirmation.
I slipped into the second bra, and my boobs were busting out of it.
Me: Becky, my boobs are busting out of this bra! Tee-hee. I said “busting.”
Becky: God, you’re such an English major.