My bust line is 44″. Forty-four motherfucking inches. On top of that my ribcage is huge; it’s a 36, but it’s also slightly concave as I’m sure you’ve noticed in my more revealing pics.
All this to say, I am large on top by mainstream standards. I wear a 36 DD bra and large, sometimes extra-large, shirts.
Thus, I’ve been buying XL sports bras so the cup will fully cover each breast.
The problem, however, is that if it fits the largeness requirement, it doesn’t fucking provide the proper support! There’s nothing more uncomfortable than large bags of flesh on your chest being tugged away from your body like hot gum from the pavement.
So in a moment of brilliance the other day, I bought two sports bras in a medium. It was as if the skies fucking parted.
The fabric, broad and soft, didn’t cut into me like I’d always expected, and the smaller size held me in like a warm, ace-bandage hug.
Oh, the bliss of my bountiful, bouncing boobies being blessedly bound to my bodacious body! Bliss, I tell you!
I saw her stupid, $1500 mutt when I pulled up to the practice field where they were wrapping up their thing and my heart stopped for a second.
I know he’s lost all interest in her and only interacts with her for this team thing. I’m cool with it. As he once told me, “You won. You got me.” And it’s true. I don’t worry about losing him to someone anymore, least of all her. I’m a leaf in the wind, after all.
It still felt strange that he’s having anything to do with her, but, I guess, no stranger than finding out recently that two weeks after they broke up she called him from jail and he had to do one of those personal bond thingies to vouch for her dumb, drunk ass.
He’d said she’d wanted to keep it a secret and he’d honored that back then, but he no longer cares to keep her secret these days. I can respect that. I still can’t respect her or her $1500 mutt.
Anyway, lets talk about how awesome my new $10 Old Navy sports bras are!