Feeding My Boobs

You thought I was kidding, right? But I told you I was coming back. Today’s topic is off-kilter, I know, but it is fact.

It is a common misconception in the fashion world that large-chested women must inevitably desire that the bodice of their clothing be cut low enough to reveal their ample bosom. While in some instances, it is entirely desirable (such as when I’m trying to get out of a ticket or when I was a waitress trying to cajole an extra tip out of a customer), most times it can be downright annoying, especially when it comes to eating.

I find that my boobs only serve as catch-alls to anything I consume. I have effectively coined this as “feeding my boobs,” and I have found that they have very distinctive palate.

1. Peanuts: Anyone who knows me really well knows that I have an aversion to most nuts. No, I’m not allergic to them; I just don’t like the feeling of chewing twigs in my mouth. However, there are two types of nuts for which I will make an exception, and those are pecans and peanuts. Neither of them are as dry as the other species of nuts, and they taste really good wrapped in some type of sugar, which is the only way I generally eat them. I never worry about my boobs having an appetite for pecans since they are generally wrapped in chocolate AND caramel (that’s right Turtles®). However, peanuts are a different story: yes, I mostly enjoy them in Snickers® and Peanut Chews®, but occasionally when I back on my hardcore weight loss determination (you’ve seen the blogs about my constant battle here, here, and here), I buy peanuts to solve the craving, but not plain salted peanuts. These too are usually swimming in sugar, whether it the honey roasted brand or my latest obsession, toffee peanuts. Regardless of which one it is, my boobs often have a say in their consumption.
2. Fried chicken: I’m not going to lie; in this case my boobs have very good taste. And because I generally deprive my entire body of fried foods for extended periods, all of them come up in arms and rejoice when I make a trip to Royal Farms (who must have crack among its list of herbs and spices). Inevitably, the crumbs from fried chicken end up dropping into my bra.
3. Liquids: Hey, after all that good food, my boobs get thirsty! Luckily I haven’t scalded them too much with hot coffee, but they love water, and strangely enough, apple martinis as I found out last night. To explain the water, I have this very large travel mug that I drink out of. I’ve had it for years, and it is truly one of the best insulated cups out there since I can put ice in it in the morning and still have ice three hours later. And the cup is supposedly spill proof. Except for when it’s not. I can’t explain it, but somehow, there are just days when my boobs bribe the cup into spilling just the right amount of ice-cold water.

The worst thing about feeding my boobs is that sometimes they’re sneaky eaters on the verge of being hoarders. There have been more than a few occasions where I have taken my bra off at night, only to discover a piece of some mysterious food dislodge itself. But my boobs are also billy goats with pica because there are a few instances where a stray earring back from the day has tumbled out.

So should I starve them with high-neck shirts and turtle necks? I think that would be cruel. Even if they sometimes make life difficult be obstructing my view, they’ve been my bosom buddies (yeah, I had to do it) since puberty. So they deserve an occasional treat.