A word about breasts
Living vicariously through various knit-a-longs--Tank Girls, BNS, ChicKami, etc. (pattern credit to Bonne Marie for the BNS and ChicKami)--has caused Nake-id Knits to wonder, do any of you have...how shall I say...a bosom?
I'd cast on for ChicKami et al if you could gerry rig underwires into the work. What's the secret? Plastic surgery? Strapless brassiere? Youth?
Hey folks, I used to be a perky A-cup too. Now I've got the tits of an adipose Bavarian grandma. We're talkin' a bra with three hooks in the back. Three! Turning 40 was a breeze compared to purchasing an undergarment with enough latex to float a blimp.
Granted, part of it is weight gain; I'm no longer the 98-pound weakling I was in college. But part of it, I swear, is eschewing childbirth. Have kids, your ta-tas shrink. Don't have kids and they'll swell to the size of prize-winning melons.
Those of you lesser-endowed bloggers are thinking, "Whiney Wench, I should have such problems." But think about it. Clothes hang poorly over a big rack. Big boobs make you look big, what can I say? I celebrate the feminine form as much as the next feminist, but you try running to catch a bus with your mams flapping in the breeze or sleeping on your stomach or wearing a ChicKami. Breasts are fine when you're 20. But remember what goes up, must come down. How low can they go, I ask?
So what's the secret to successful camisole wearing? Pump iron? Breast reduction? I really want to know.
In the meantime, I'll just go slip into a Cross Your Heart bra.
FO:
Oh yeah, Ethan's done...
8:30:19 AM 
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