Since time began, we women have been squeezing, manipulating, and repositioning our breast flesh to suit current societal preferences. Maybe Eve wasn’t reaching for an apple. Maybe she was trying to balance her boobs on a branch.
Some of us choose painful and expensive plastic surgery, but most of us settle for slightly less painful and expensive undergarments because they come in pretty colors and have lace! Ouch, it hurts when I breathe… but this body shaper is so pretty.
When I was in high school, bras came in one color and style.
They were white, rigid, unnaturally pointed (can you say ‘traffic cone’?), uncomfortable tourniquets. Today, there are bras which are marvels of ingenuity and monuments to the art of optical illusion. Now you see my boobs, now you don’t! We’ve come a long way, baby.
Large breasts? You can choose a bra that will minimize your ample bosom, primarily by shoving most of your breast tissue so far to the sides that your armpits become erogenous zones. Note: Apply deodorant before putting on a minimizing bra.
Breasts too small and low to meet current beauty standards? A push-up bra can shove them so far up your neckline that you wonder if there is such a thing as bilateral goiter. The resulting cleavage will be so deep and sweaty that mushrooms will sprout from its depths. In the heat of summer, you may have to drizzle a little bleach into the chasm to kill the mildew, but it’s so worth it, right?
Some of these bras cost hundreds of dollars. For that price, I could hire a handsome escort whom I shall call Pierre to accompany me to special events, where he can hold up my breasts with his cupped hands as I mingle and socialize. Perhaps I could get a second escort, perhaps called Jacque, to also hold up my ass.
Water bras were popular for a brief period. I tried one for a while. It did make me look more voluptuous, but at high tide it made me list so far to one side that I needed a sextant to navigate the room. And when I stepped outside in the winter, the cold cups froze solid and my nipples poked holes through my down jacket.
I once saw an ad for a paraffin-lined bra. I don’t see any advantage to having my bosom smell like a bayberry candle, except in case of the apocalypse and the resulting power outage, I could light the wicks to guide the rescue team. Needless to say, I did not try one of these bras. Although, now that I think about it, perhaps I should add one to my post-apocalyptic first aid kit.
In the Victorian Era, women desired not only full breasts and ample cleavage but a minuscule waist and wide protruding hips. To achieve this, they were laced into corsets so tightly that their eyes bulged and they often fainted from lack of oxygen. Their sharply defined figures resembled the biological illustration of a wasp. Their goal was to have a waist so tiny that it could easily be fully spanned by the hands of their best beau. Did anyone ever suggested that the men have their fingers stretched on ‘the rack’ so they could achieve the same result? They did not.
If I had been alive back then, I would probably take the same route to shaping my body as I do today: I would eat all the sweet treats I wanted and only date men with massive hands. You know what they say about men with big hands and feet — they make any woman they’re with look 10-lbs. lighter.
