Hey you, yeah you, come here. Feel this. You feel that? Yeah…nothin’. Sure there’s a bit of flabby skin you’re feelin’, but really…you’re holding nothing more than the left overs of the boobs that used to be.
Oh the glory days of The Twins. They were young. They were perky. They were everything and just enough. Sure, they could have enjoyed a bit of enhancing, but that was a passing thought when you looked at the lusciousness and cleavage they provided.
Yes, She-ra and Superwoman loved to rock the party. With any low cut shirt the beauties would excite the beasts. Once released from their restricting bra the titties enjoyed their twisters. Oh, those were the times. To be honest, I wish I felt them up more. I wish I had stared at their nippled eyes and appreciated them for who they really were. They were beautiful.
And then I got pregnant.
The bitches hurt me. Seriously, they were like two women on a mission to destroy a man that was dating both of them at the same time. Except…it was their fault that they hurt. Them and their enchanting beauty. Dirty hookers. Both of them! Yes, they knocked me up…not literally, but they sped the process along and now they attacked me as each brush against them made me whimper in pain.
They had me by the nipples.
Finally I had the baby and by then I was used to the new girls. They had toughened up and they plumped up happily. They were enjoying the fruits of my pregnancy. Once the baby came they teased me. Oh yeah, my tatas tantalizing teased me as I took care of my newborn those first few nights. My girls grew.
And they grew.
And they grew.
Oh yeah baby, I had what every woman dreamed of….love mounds the size of cantaloupes. Except there was one problem. The dirty hookers decided that no one except my newborn (and even then he was at risk) could touch them for fear of being attacked by a killer spray of breastmilk. Once again they had taken control and shot everyone around them if my baby so much as cried or whimpered. They had a mind of their own and they were certain to make me suffer at their expense. Their waterfalls of fluid stained all of my shirts. Some would say they were sympathetic, motherly, caring even, but no…I will say they were mean, sly, and passive aggressive.
After breastfeeding my first son my girls went on vacation. They left a bit of themselves behind so I can remember the awesomeness that my canteloupes had provided. Then, I got pregnant with my second son and once again, they grew.
Hello Lovers, welcome back.
Except this time they still were viscous and sprayful. Their “sympathy” grew and I was now bordering on having two honeydew melons strapped to my chest. And you know what? I was ok with that. I enjoyed them even though no one else could come near them. Even my son enjoyed them as he copped a feel while nursing on the other breast.
Welcome to the world, Minnie and Daisy.
Then I finished nursing and that is where you come in my friends. That is where you, still sitting here holding my boobs (What’s wrong with you? Why haven’t you let go yet??), feel the left overs. I have shrunk FOUR cup sizes since nursing my second son. The girls have made their escape and shed their plumpness like a snake slithering out of their skin. I went from the boobs of the goddess Hera to the boobs in an article of National Geographic.
Good bye girls. Farewell luscious cleavage. Farewell gorgeous naked time.
Hello Victoria Secret Miraculous bra. Hello chicken cutlet padding. Hello Mr. Plastic Surgeon. How are you?
Do your boobs hang low?
Do they wobble to and fro?
Can you tie them in a knot?
Can you tie them in a bow?
Can you throw them over your shoulder
Like a Continental soldier?
Do your boobs hang low??