Thirty Something

Thirties are definitely nothing like they say, for a woman I mean

Surrounded since childhood with TV ads that tell you 30s are way toooooooo old, when you’re gonna be a good cross legged wife with 40 pounds extra weight because of the two kids who milked the hell out of you, 30s, despite all the bad publicity turned out to be awesome, I know it’s only the first half, but the horizon shows it’s only gonna get better!

For starters, this year for the first time in 20 years, since the whole darn thing started: I’m wearing the right size brassiere, which is not as simple as it sounds, it turns out, getting the right size of breasts is rocket science, especially when you go up to the plus sizes, so there you go …
It’s a big achievement, considering my personal history with mammary glands.

I was eight, totally minding my own business, trying to be a good girl, then whammmmmmm!!!! That horrible pain started, medical books call it: “Tenderness”, but to hell with them, they have no clue what they’re talking about! It’s pain, a terrible new type of pain, for child whose worst accident was a couple of stitches,

I couldn’t bear my own clothes, anything tight hurt, a minor rough play with my younger brother ended in screaming, God, you’d think someone would tell you what to do, but no one is talking, my life has turned upside down, I wanted to scream when someone hugged me, and no place to go.

Studying the equipment turned out with more questions than answers, why is my areola all puffy one day and flat the other? Why is my nipple rigid in the morning and flaccid at night?
Now will someone pleaaaaaaaase tell me what the hell is going on?

After I found I can no more sleep on my tummy, I decided it was time to tell the mother something was seriously wrong with me. She said it was normal, and will go away by itself when my breasts are fully grown – that took five more years

And for God’s sake “Normal” is a word that needs redefinition

That wasn’t the end of the agony however, it turns out, there is a deep rooted belief that wearing a bra suppresses the growth of breasts, that is why many mothers, mine was one, don not let their daughters wear brassieres, except after the breasts have grown to a size E hopefully, breasts are an asset, Maximize them!

This was ok as long as they don’t really grow, but if a girl was unlucky enough to grow to a size D at 13, it turns nasty (now men reading this, sorry to disturb your Al McPherson fantasy, but they droop like ragged socks, so, check another site)

Brassieres are used for many reasons, some of them are certainly cosmetic, but for sizes C and above they are an absolute necessity! A normal kid who wants to run and jump will spend sorrowful time with jiggling breasts, because, other than the pain, she’ll have all kinds of comments from passers by – men of course- who will have the time of their lives watching jiggling breasts and will certainly express it.

Anyways, at 15 I found enough was enough and put down my foot on the matter, and asked in a no nonsense tone for a god damn brassiere, reluctantly, the mom gave in, although damage was already done, and that was when a whole new set of trouble started.

Now everybody was saying I should not run or jump because I have grown up, and that the sight of a woman running or jumping is not a pretty one, when cornered for more, they revealed that breasts look unladylike, bouncing up and down, even in a bra.

Being fond of running and jumping, this was serious trouble, reluctant to give up my jumping rights I decided to deal with the matter. And that was: keeping breasts in place no matter what

I started with my younger brothers clothes, wore them under my own clothes to contain the natural movement of my breasts, as much as I can.

They worked well, they were like a pressure suit, I couldn’t breath, jumping up and down in front of the mirror before going out to check on the bouncing status

I could hardly breathe, I scared my underarms by the tightening my brassiere till it scratched my skin, till it was about to pop open, as soon as I set foot in the house, I took my pressure suit off and tried to breathe. I was determined to preserve my running and jumping rights regardless of the hassle.

That’s another good thing about the thirties, having the right sized bra is one, the other is this: I would were the most comfortable brassiere I can find for my own comfort and jump and bounce as much as I want and tell anyone who’d stare: Up Yours Jerk!

Of course there is also the fact that a woman in her thirties is probably financially able to afford a good pair, what fresh graduate can pay 250 pounds for a good one?

So if only for that, thirties rock!!

Now when you’re 30 you generally are not so hung up on what people think of you as a women as before, besides, you now know a good deal of the answer and you go ahead and enjoy a good deal of life you missed on in your teenage years and twenties, no more silly choices of a 17 year old.

You are also probably either in mature relationship starting to relax, or without a relationship and not worrying much about it, ‘cause you found out you can be as happy without any, so there you go, more fun!

For a woman, if she’s the least bit smart, she will have found out by then that most of what society told her about being a woman is downright bullshit, and so, dear society, dear family, dear Ministers, Priests and Sheikh’s, buzz of suckers!!