Small Breasts are best

When the breasts were handed out, I was way down the line, and for many years it bothered me. I was the last girl in my class to wear a bra, and even then I didn’t have enough to fill it. Remember those bras of the mid 1960’s which had the circular stitching all around the cups? Well, if you didn’t fill them with your attributes, they folded inwards under your school blouse. Pert little bosoms morphed into volcano craters, and after two days of ridicule from my classmates, I reluctantly ditched the bra for another year and returned to the dreaded Aertex vest.

With my boyish figure, one 1960’s fashion trend which looked good on me was the cowboy shirt and hipster jeans look. I also had my hair cropped into the urchin cut and highlighted. I set off for the local hop feeling really good – until I heard two girls giggling behind me. ‘Oh, isn’t HE gorgeous?’ simpered one. ‘I must get him to dance with me!’ ‘Hands off!’ said her pal, ‘I saw him first!’ ‘He’ didn’t go to the dance that night, and the cowboy shirt and hipsters never saw the light of day again.

Things didn’t improve much with marriage either. While my husband wasn’t particularly a breasts man – he was one of the ‘More than a handful is wasted’ school – He obviously realised that my attributes were way down the scale. One night in the pub, I heard him discussing breast sizes with his mates. One man said he liked cantaloupe melon-sized boobies, another preferrred them grapefruit-sized. My husband said he wasn’t that bothered about size, and he thought anything above the size of a medium orange was just too big for comfort. Then he spoiled it by adding, ‘Mind you, Sandra’s are more like eggs, and poached eggs at that!’ Needless to say, he didn’t get too close to my poached eggs for several days after that!

Now I’m 57, and I really appreciate my small breasts. I never need a bra, which is great, as we live in Spain. All my well endowed neighbours complain of heat rash under their boobies and white strap marks, but I’m cool and comfortable. I can sunbathe topless on the beach without worrying about white crescents underneath, or somebody snapping away on his camera phone and plastering my bosom all over Facebook or You Tube. I don’t suffer from backache, as there’s nothing there to put a strain on my spine. And I don’t have to worry about gravity either. My assets point west rather than south, just as they did on my way to the dance 40 years ago, and I can wear strappy, skimpy fashionable tops while my larger sisters can only gaze longingly at the window display. Large or small breasts? Big may be beautiful to some, but for me, smallest is sweetest!