Ode to My Reduction - The Time Has Come...

My Dearest Hercules and Atlas,

You have been my constant companions since I was twelve years old, but the time has come for us to go our separate ways. As we end this sixteen year journey, I look fondly back on the memories we made together…

No longer will we be able to mock the multitudes of men who trip over their own jaws as they gape at your bountiful “blessings.” Good-bye to the days of free tire rotations and cheap car inspections. No more moving to the front of the line at movie theaters or at Best Buy. So long free drinks at Happy Hour and extra donuts from Donut Palace.

Please know that although I may be doing the Happy-Happy, Joy-Joy Dance at the thought of being able to throw away my hideously unattractive 38DD bras, you will always have a special place in my heart. Rest assured that as I’m skipping braless around my apartment singing, “I’ve got perky boo-bies!!! I’ve got perky boo-bies!!!,” I’m also thinking of the two of you and the moments we shared.

Fare thee well, my not-so-little friends… You’ll be missed…

Ode to My Reduction - One Day to Go

The second day after Boob Job

I say farewell to thee…

… Bye-bye extra “hands” …

(Have you ever found yourself in need of an extra helping-hand? Maybe you’ve got your hands full, but you need to make a photocopy or send a fax. “Regular” people have to put down the items in their hands before they can carry on with their work. The graciously-endowed simply use an extra “hand” to press the little green button. Many employers would never admit it, but I believe they prefer to hire “big girls” due to our increased productivity.

 

The “extra hands” thing brings me to another common problem… Potlucks… For most people, potluck dinners involve much skill… Precariously balancing separate dinner and dessert plates, silverware, and a drink all the while attempting to find a way to carry everything back to the chair you’ll be eating in… No table, mind you… Just a chair. For most people, potlucks present a serious problem… Not so for the bountifully-busted! We can easily carry a plate in each hand, and a drink tucked into our cleavage. No table? No problem! We just rest our plates right there on our chests, and have a grand old time. No hassle, no mess, no problem!)

And built-in cushions made of boobies.

Ode to My Reduction - Two Days to Go

As the big day approaches, I find myself becoming a little bit nostalgic. Having massive hooters isn’t all bad. So, in the interest of fairness, I’ve decided to dedicate these last few days to a few of the good “big booby” qualities.

(Also to be performed to the tune of The Twelve Days of Christmas,but sing slowly, and reverently… Think violins and harps…)

On the first day after Boob Job

I say farewell to thee…

… Built-in cushions made of boobies…

(Have you ever gotten out of bed in the middle of the dark night, misjudged where you were, walked straight into the wall and broke your nose? Have you ever done a set of pushups, have your arms give out at the end, and fall down cracking your chin on the floor?

Well, I haven’t!!! I’ve been blessed to have breasts large enough to break the impact well before my nose or chin become endangered.

Not only do large breasts prevent bodily injury, they also make excellent floatation devices. I have yet to meet a large-breasted woman who couldn’t float indefinitely on her back. Life jacket? I don’t need one… I have built-in buoyancy.

I suppose I’ll just have to get used to facial injuries. And I should probably learn how to swim while I’m at it.)

Ode to My Reduction - Day Twelve

On the twelfth day of Boob Job

the Good Witch gave to me
 

Source

… A comfortable night’s sleep …

(It’s 2:00am… You’ve been visiting dreamland for about three hours, when suddenly you realize something is horribly wrong. “Can’t breathe! Must have oxygen!” you think as you force yourself to wake up. You awaken only to discover that you had turned onto your stomach sometime during the night, and your gigantor breasts have somehow managed to wrap themselves around your throat. Strangulation is only one of the many sleeping discomforts caused by massive hooters.

There are no comfortable sleeping positions for big-boobied women. You can lie on your back, but your breasts flop over your arms, trapping them to your sides like a straight jacket. You can attempt to roll over, but your chest tends to function as a speed bump and stops you halfway there. Lie on your stomach, and you have that whole strangulation factor to deal with.
I can’t wait for the night when I can finally sleep in peace!)

… No more underwire …

… No more pesky stains …

… No more “busty” nicknames …

… Eye-contact from men …

… A little bit less cleavage …

… Clear view of my feet …

… NO MORE BACK PAIN!!! …

… No more injuries …

… Many shirts that button …

… Matching bras and panties

…And a small pair of perky boobies!

Ode to My Reduction - Day Eleven

 

The eleventh day of Boob Job
the Good Witch gave to me…

… No more underwire …

 

 

(You’re finally going on vacation! Your plane tickets are in hand, and you’re slowly making your way toward security. All of a sudden, your excitement over that long-awaited vacation begins to take a backseat to the extreme trepidation you’re beginning to feel. Your hands are sweating, your heart is pounding, you’re getting really nervous. No, you’re not afraid to fly… You are certain that the underwire in your bra is going to set off the metal detector. Now, maybe this has never happened to you, but speaking as a women who has actually set off a metal detector or two, I can tell you that it’s not fun. Imagine trying to explain to the guards that, “No, I’m not packing heat. It’s just the 500 feet of underwire in my bra.”)

… No more pesky stains …
… No more “busty” nicknames …
… Eye-contact from men …
… A little bit less cleavage …
… Clear view of my feet …
… NO MORE BACK PAIN!!! …
… No more injuries …
… Many shirts that button …
… Matching bras and panties …
And a small pair of perky boobies!

Ode to My Reduction - Day Ten

On the tenth day of Boob Job

the Good Witch gave to me…

… No more pesky stains …

(I’ve always been a firm believer in proper table etiquette. Without fail, upon seating myself at the dinner table, I gently place my napkin in my lap. I must admit, however, that to this day I still haven’t a clue what purpose this serves. After completing a meal, I look down only to discover the top half of my shirt completely covered with small bits of whatever it was I’d been eating… and a perfectly spotless napkin in my lap.

Just the other morning I had to change my shirt three times before making it to work. The first shirt I put on had some sort of stain on the chest… apparently remnants from the last meal I’d eaten while wearing it. The second shirt was quickly discarded when I accidentally got toothpaste all over it. For most people, toothpaste foam isn’t that big of a deal. They just dribble in the sink. For gifted women, however, the pendulous bosoms get in the way, and the toothpaste inevitably smears all over the chest. Just when I thought I would successfully make it to work, I went to get a flyer off of my windshield and brushed my chest against my wet, dirty car. Back into the apartment I went for clothing change #3.

I am definitely looking forward to the money I’m going to save after the reduction. The amount of money I’ll save on laundry detergent alone will be a huge cut in cost… not to mention the money I’ll save on my water and electric bills… Maybe I’ll finally be able to get that summer home…)

… No more “busty” nicknames …

… Eye-contact from men …

… A little bit less cleavage …

… Clear view of my feet …

… NO MORE BACK PAIN!!! …

… No more injuries …

… Many shirts that button …

… Matching bras and panties …

And a small pair of perky boobies!

Ode to My Reduction - Day Nine

On the ninth day of Boob Job

the Good Witch gave to me…

… No more “busty” nicknames …

(Everyone has a nickname or two… Little endearments used by close friends and loved ones to make you feel special… Nicknames are usually a reflection of your personality, and in the case of the overly-busty, that “personality” is always the chest.

Over the years, I’ve inherited a couple of fitting nicknames. One boyfriend dubbed me Nerf Woman because I was, in his words, “soft, round, bouncy, and fun to play with.” I’m still a little uncertain as to what exactly he meant by that, but knowing his particular fascination with my “personalities,” I have a pretty good idea. :-) My own mother labeled me with a name that is still in use today… Bam-Bam. To be fair, she also called my little sister Pebbles… fitting names for both of us at the time…

If you think the nicknames are bad, just try being one of the “lucky” busty girls whose breasts are large enough to be considered separate entities all on their own. My college roommate, herself a favorite client of the Hooter Fairy, lugs around her constant companions… Big Bird and Snuffalupugus. My own “entities” also inherited their very own names… Hercules and Atlas.

I sure hope Hercules and Atlas aren’t too offended when I turn them into Herculess and Atless. :-)

… Eye-contact from men …

… A little bit less cleavage …

… Clear view of my feet …

… NO MORE BACK PAIN!!! …

… No more injuries …

… Many shirts that button …

… Matching bras and panties …

And a small pair of perky boobies!

Ode to My Reduction - Day Eight

On the eighth day of Boob Job

The Good Witch gave to me…

… Eye-contact from men …

(I’ve always said that I would only marry the man who could stare longingly into my eyes for hours on end. This is, perhaps, why I am still single. You see, women with bountiful bosoms generally encounter three types of men:

“The Fidgeter” – These are the guys who know you’re well endowed, but who are terrified to look for fear of being caught. First, they look at their feet. Then they realize you might be offended by that so they make an attempt at eye contact. The second they do, they become very aware that they can’t stop thinking about your chest. They’re certain that you’ll be able to read it in their eyes, so they quickly stare at the wall behind you. They wring they’re hands. They break out into a sweat. Their eyes dart from the wall to the ceiling to your forehead… anywhere but your eyes or your chest… And sadly, these guys are the lesser of the three evils.

Then you have “The Deer-in-the-Headlights Guys” – These are your morally upstanding guys. They absolutely will not offend you by looking at your breasts or by losing eye contact with you for even one millisecond. In fact, they are concentrating so hard on maintaining eye contact that they don’t even allow themselves to blink. Their eyes remain as wide as saucers. Hence, “the Deer-in-the-Headlights” title.

Finally, you have “The Bumbling Fools” – Yes, this term seems to apply to most men in most situations, but for the well-endowed women, the “Bumbling Fools” are the eye-popping, jaw-dropping droolers. They behave like a puppy who’s about to be given a treat. These are the guys who couldn’t remove their eyes from your breasts if you paid them. They go into a kind of hypnotic trance. These guys are completely useless. You’ll get nothing out of them except a “hubba-hubba” and a lot of drool. :-)

… A little bit less cleavage …

… Clear view of my feet …

… NO MORE BACK PAIN!!! …

… No more injuries …

… Many shirts that button …

… Matching bras and panties …

And a small pair of perky boobies!

Ode to My Reduction - Day Seven

On the seventh day of Boob Job

the Good Witch gave to me…

… A little bit less cleavage …

 

 

(You know how women do that thing where they tuck their money in their bras? I tried that once. I thought it would be sexy… And darned if I never saw that $20 again! Forever lost in the great abyss of my cleavage.I tried on a miracle bra once too. I had always been curious to see what the big deal was. Those things were definitely not made for already-busty girls. It “miracled” me clear up to my chin! I could have successfully hidden a small country in there! As it is, I will accidentally drop something down my shirt, and won’t be able to find it again. I’ll have to be sure to tell my surgeon to keep an eye out for my earrings. And who knows… maybe I’ll finally get my $20 back!)

 

… Clear view of my feet …

… NO MORE BACK PAIN!!! …

… No more injuries …

… Many shirts that button …

… Matching bras and panties …

And a small pair of perky boobies!

Ode to My Reduction - Day Six

On the sixth day of Boob Job

the Good Witch gave to me……

Clear view of my feet …

(I can’t remember the last time I was able to look down and actually see my feet. No, I’m not nine months pregnant… I just have big boobs. I’ve mastered tying my shoes by touch, but shaving my legs and painting my toenails require a little more creativity. If someone were to walk in while I was attempting one of those tasks, they would risk seeing me in some rather interesting positions.Now, leg-shaving for anyone requires imagination and flexibility. But try painting your toenails while fighting to see around two large, floppy obstacles. Luckily, my “obstacles” are large enough to tuck firmly under my armpits to get them out of the way.(Now there’s one you don’t hear very often :-)

… NO MORE BACK PAIN!!! …

… No more injuries …

… Many shirts that button …

… Matching bras and panties …

And a small pair of perky boobies!

Ode to My Reduction - Day Five

 

 

On the fifth day of Boob Job
the Good Witch gave to me…

… NO MORE BACK PAIN!!! …

(You try strapping two six pound water balloons to your chest and lugging them around for sixteen years and see how hot you feel! Enough said.)

... No more injuries …
… Many shirts that button …
… Matching bras and panties …
And a small pair of perky boobies!

Ode to My Reduction - Day Four

On the fourth day of Boob Job

the Good Witch gave to me…

…No more injuries…

(“Gifted “ women are tough. We have to be. We go out for a jog and return with a couple of black eyes… a direct result of “floppage.” Hockey players think they have it rough. At least they get to wear protective gear! I can’t remember the last time I was able to do a jumping jack without breaking my nose. Aerobics classes inevitably result in knocking out a tooth or a trip to the emergency room. Oh, how thrilling the day will be when at last I am able to run and jump without causing injury to myself!)

… Many shirts that button …

… Matching bras and panties …

And a small pair of perky boobies!

Ode to My Reduction - Day Three

On the third day of Boob Job

The Good Witch gave to me……

Many shirts that button …

(I have many shirts WITH buttons, but the buttons on my shirts are more for decoration than for function. I tend to wear my button shirts open over a tank top or a t-shirt. You see, generously-endowed women are owners of shirts with what we commonly refer to as “the suicide button.” …that one button smack in the middle of our chests that clings on for dear life… If we’re lucky enough to be able to get the shirt buttoned in the first place, the “suicide button” eventually gives up and either comes open, or pops off completely. This can become quite a hazard.You know you’re in trouble when people request that you refrain from buttoning your shirts for fear of having an eye poked out by the flying projectiles. :-)

… Matching bras and panties …

And a small pair of perky boobies!

Ode to My Reduction - Days One and Two

***DISCLAIMER***

Fair warning for those of you who become easily embarrassed... Don't read this if you are going to be offended or completely mortified by the mere mentioning of bras and/or what is underneath them.This little piece was written several years ago during the weeks leading up to a particular surgery which freed my back and shoulders from unspeakable pain, but sadly, also resulted in the end of my free oil changes and tire rotations. Many thanks to Casey Palmer-Ryan, whose original take on the Hooter Fairy inspired me to tell my own... (I told you guys I've blogged about EVERYTHING! :-)

"Ode to My Reduction"

--- A Little Background ---

Since the beginning of time, the Good Witch of the Breast has visited adolescent females, granting each girl with the possibility of perfectly proportioned breasts. As girls grew into adulthood, they became more and more pleased with the Good Witch’s work… and all was well with the world.

As time passed and the population began to grow in staggering numbers, the Good Witch became greatly overworked. She decided the time had come to find herself an apprentice… someone who could split the workload and lessen the stress related to the ever-growing demand. So she put out an ad among the “magical, fairy-type people” to see who she could find to help her out. After reviewing many applicants, she decided to give the rather enthusiastic Hooter Fairy a chance.

Since girlhood, the Hooter Fairy’s life’s ambition was to work with the Good Witch. Her excitement at this new opportunity, however, became somewhat of a hindrance. The Hooter Fairy worked non-stop, day and night, night and day, visiting girl after girl. But in her haste to impress the Good Witch with her fast work, she lost track of whom she had visited. As girls grew into adulthood, many discovered to their dismay that their chests were completely out of proportion with the rest of their bodies. Some girls had no chests at all… Others had breasts the size of watermelons… The Hooter Fairy would visit some girls two or three times, while others she completely forgot!

Because her mistakes were not immediately apparent, the Good Witch of the Breast had no idea what was happening. By the time the Hooter Fairy’s mistakes became noticeable, the Good Witch had become too attached to the Hooter Fairy. So she decided to overlook the occasional mistakes, and allowed the Hooter Fairy to continue her apprenticeship.

Today, the Hooter Fairy and the Good Witch continue to visit young girls. And still today, the Hooter Fairy loses track of whom she has visited. Girls must now wait until adulthood to discover who has visited them… The Good Witch of the Breast… or The Hooter Fairy.

As a favorite client of the Hooter Fairy, I have found myself in the unenviable position of having breasts the size of honeydew melons. After much deliberation, I decided to take fate into my own hands and scheduled breast reduction surgery. My Good Witch will come to me in the form of my very own cosmetic surgeon. With my surgery only a few weeks away, I have decided to commemorate this glorious occasion in song. Enjoy!

The Twelve Days of Boob Job

(to be performed to the tune of “The 12 Days of Christmas”)

On the first day of Boob Job

the Good Witch gave to me……

a small pair of perky boobies!

On the second day of Boob Jobthe Good Witch gave to me……

Matching bras and panties …

(“What’s so great about matching bras and panties?” you might ask. Well, let me tell you… It is impossible to find sexy little bras in a 38DD. They come in white, black, and if you’re incredibly lucky, beige. I have taken to washing my white bras in loads of bright colors in a feeble attempt to obtain pink, baby blue, etc. As far as lace goes… soooo not going to happen. Lace is for dainty, little people. I have come to learn that a 38DD is not considered dainty. :-) A bra with a front clasp? Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!!! Too funny!!! That baby would pop open the second I got it closed. “Big-mama bras” hook in the back and have three hooks as opposed to the normal two. They also have shoulder straps a mile wide and enough underwire to create your own fencing. Ah… The joys of being able to purchase matching bra and panty sets… I can’t wait!!!)

And a small pair of perky boobies!