The Bearded Iris

A Recalcitrant Wife and Mother Tells All

Mama Needs a New Pair of Boobs

So I met this cool chick named Kristen McClusky a couple of weeks ago at the Erma Bombeck Writers’ Workshop and it was basically love at first sight. And not just because she has really pretty hands and lives not far from where I used to live in Oakland, California. Kristen writes a delightful blog called motherload: diary of a modern day housewife superhero. And it was after I read her About page that I knew I had to have a little piece of her (in a totally non creepy way) to share with all of you.

Well guess what? I networked! I sent her an email expressing my non-creepy love and asked her if she would pretty-please be my very first guest blogger.

And she said YES! OMG. I made a new friend…in real life. Somebody pinch me!

So without further ado, I present my new friend Kristen McClusky and her boobies…

*********

My gay friend Rick thinks I have great tits. He admires them with the shameless gusto that only a guy with no interest in “going there” can.

I’d have slapped other men for saying even half of what Rick has said about my boobies. But with him? I’m flattered. I mean, Rick has exceptional taste.

Then one day while critiquing my shoes and cleavage, he asked me if my hooters were fake. And I was crushed.

Crushed because it was suddenly, painfully clear that when it comes to ta-tas, the man has no idea what he’s talking about.

I think my response went something like, “THESE?! These barely B cups? You think someone would PAY to have these droopy, nursed-two-babies, formerly not-even-that-fabulous boobies surgically constructed?”

After throwing back my head and laughing heartily, I tousled his hair and said, “Stick to what you know, honey.” Then walked away.

By the time you read this I’ll be in Miami at the Mom 2.0 Summit. A trip to Miami sends a clothing-careless Nor Cal mom like me into a fashion frenzy. My yoga-pants-and-flip-flops uniform will not carry over to the Versace Mansion (where I’m truly attending a party, thankyouverymuch).

So I’ve been shopping.

I had the good luck to find a few new fabulous frocks. But I’ve gotta say, my mommy mammaries are NOT doing them justice. I mean, especially in a strapless number. It’s one part engineering–needing to just hold the dress up–and one part aesthetics. Having more would just look better.

I needed bigger boobs in six days. So I went to Victoria’s Secret.

I was on the phone with my friend Meggie when I walked into the place. Which was good since it let me wave off the short, older woman with a tape measure around her neck who approached me. I know her type–the bra-fitting Nazi–all too well.

I had a Russian crone measure me for a nursing bra once and nearly needed therapy afterward. She hijacked me with her tape measure, stretching it over my chest in the middle of the store. She barked, “NO!” to the bras I’d picked out, yanked others off the rack, then marched into the small dressing room with me to try them on. She wrenched straps into place, and poked at puckering fabric as I stood terror-filled. And I don’t scare easy.

“This one good,” she snapped as I meekly tried to look at it in the mirror. “You get it.”

I left with three bras I was afraid not to buy.

At V’s Secret I found an apparently un-hostile saleswoman and quietly stammered, “I uh… need to buy some… boobies.”

“Built into the bra, or separate?” she enquired, as if she were asking, “Milk or sugar?”

“Uh… separate? I think?” I was doing that make-everything-a-question thing California girls do. Probably since I felt like a kid myself, looking to stuff my bra.

In the corner of the store she grabbed a pink and black box and pulled out a rose-colored satin pouch. From there she withdrew a semicircular, clear rubber blob.

As we both stared down at it, I wasn’t sure what to say.

“Do I, uh, try it–them–on?”

“You can,” she said, handing the box to me. “Can’t get any germs from ’em.”

In the dressing room I shoved the cool gel disks into my bra. There are actually two per boobie–one goes underneath for lift, and the other on top to flesh things out.

I took a picture of my curvy profile with my phone and texted it to Meg. (If you don’t have a girlfriend you can text tittie pics of yourself too, what have you got? If you need, I can send you Meg’s number. You’ll love her. Email me.)

She texted back her approval. And I was pleased too. For $59 this was a hell of a lot cheaper–and less messy–than surgery.

As I dropped the rubber falsies back in their sack I couldn’t help thinking about the single gals who use these things. I mean, for the unacquainted couple, they should be called Disappointment Disks. Sure, in the bar they look great, but back at your apartment how do you explain four rubber jellyfish flopping out onto the floor? Doesn’t seem so sexy after all.

At the register a middle-aged woman rang me up with a smile. “Love these,” she whispered.

I wondered what The Husband would think of them. Foolish or fabulous?

Whatever the case, when you finally get the rack you’ve wanted since you were 13, it’s not for your hubbie. It’s not even for the admiration of your fabulous gay friends.

No, these new boobies are all for me.

*******

See? Didn’t I tell you? You can get more of Kristen (probably wearing her “Disappointment Disks”) at motherload, Twitter (@MotherLoadBlog), and Facebook.

Show her some love, y’all!

30 Comments

  1. Bahahahahahahaha! just retold this entire blog post (through fits of giggles) to the other half…. he kinda stared at me like “where do you find these people.” Although he was giggling too at “disappointment disks” 🙂

    I get blogger crushes all the time…and then stalk people… poor Kristen doesn’t realize what she let herself in for!

    Niamh
    P.S. I’m from norcal too! Kristen you’re lucky I’m living in Ireland at the mo (no actual stalking will take place!)

  2. I own these.

    I find that taking them out and slamming them on the table really helps me get my point across – to my kids, my husband – and back in the day – to a wonderful group of co-workers. Give it a try at Mom 2.0 – I’m sure you’ll make a statement!

  3. How have I lived to age 44, ok..almost 45, and didn’t know these existed???

  4. OH. Your problem is exactly the opposite of mine. And Victoria doesn’t make a cure for mine. But I LOVED your solution. Rock them boobs!

  5. I ordered some bra they said would increase you up to 3 cup sizes. They weren’t kidding. First time I wore it everyone asked if I had a breast job. Then ones that didn’t just stared so, I felt compelled to mouth “no.” Frankly, it was too much attention for me. Guess I’m just a B-cup personality.

  6. Outside of pregnancy hormones and nursing, I am squarely in a 32 -AAAA. When I was 14 I bought some kind of cream from the back of Essence magazine for $19.99 that was guaranteed to increase my bust. Goddamn thick ass salve I slathered on my chest for six weeks and got nothing but a rash. No titties. Still no titties. My husband refuses to agree to allow me to remain perpetually pregnant and nursing just to keep breastseses, so I’ve had the gel inserts for years (also, I took pictures every time I was pregnant. Mmmmmm boobies).

    The VS bra that claims to enhance you 2-3 cup sizes only does so much for me b/c I’ve just got too little to work with. I disappoint all the Victorian secrets. If I wasn’t absolutely certain that I would bleed out on the table, wind up with three boobs, get hepatitis, and be missing a kidney when I woke from surgery, I’d buy some. And then I’d shake them for dollar bills. DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW FAST I COULD SUPPLEMENT MONEY FOR THE CAR NOTE THAT I SPENT ON SHOES?

  7. Sort of wish boobs weren’t non-transferable. I have enough to share with both you and the lady behind the VS register.

    • Me too!! I think Leslie/Iris/Kristen should organize a donor matchup. Those who have, willing to give to those who have-not. I’ll happily accomodate the needs of 3…maybe 4 “have-nots” with these mountainous mammaries of mine!

  8. Being yourself is much sexier than rubber titties, unless you’re RuPaul. Come on girl.

    • I’ve often thought of myself as a gay man trapped in the body of a straight woman. But I’ve never thought of myself as a straight woman aspiring to the body of a cross-dressing man. Let me ponder that…

  9. Hello Kristen, nice to meet you. I too have some barely B’s and could have totally hooked you up with a nice strapless bra, but you are in Miami now so, oh well. I refuse to google this product. I will just have to go see for myself at VS. Now we all wonder- What did your husband think? Not really, we really want to know about the Versace Mansion. With pictures.
    Thanks for blogging for Iris. (there is no telling what that woman is up to.)
    Lisa/Lynn
    P.S. your about page rocks.

  10. Omg, SO SO funny. I think I had a relative of your bra nazi accost me into buying several expensive nursing bras while my baby was crying in the stroller. Good sales tactic!

  11. I call them chicken cutlets!

    • Me too! Although, I don’t own any because I am trying to win the world record for longest breasts not pictured in National Geographic Magazine.

      • Hahaha SNORT! Now I’m remembering some comedian talking about long boobs. He was saying something to the effect that the woman could roll them up, lick the end (like sealing an envelope), stick it to her chest and tuck it into her bra. Nice visual image, huh?

  12. So … just like when I first discovered Iris, I’ll now be losing a couple of days catching up on all the posts Kristen has ever written! Darn it, I’ve got a deadline and 3 assignments to write… perhaps I can limit myself to read one post per day …?
    Thank you Iris 🙂

  13. Loved this. I am on the other end of the spectrum… I got bigger with each pregnancy. And although that might seem like some kind of great gift from god for going through 9 months of puking, it actually was the final insult. My great big boobies dropped so low from the added weight that when I took my bra off at night, the boobs brushed my kneecaps. They say life always looks better on the other side, right? Definitely would have preferred to wear jelly fish in my bra than have to drag around the Betsy udders the rest of my life. I did finally choose to go the surgery route and had those monsters hiked up and reduced to boobs more befitting a human being than something of the bovine family. Thanks for sharing the “breast” story ever (and love hanging out with you at Mom 2.0!).

  14. I used to have fabulous boobs. They were perfection.
    I also wondered if I should maybe take them down a notch because they could be a bit overwhelming at times.
    And then?
    I had a child.
    Now they are deflated bits of skin with a golf ball at the bottom.
    Ridiculous.

  15. Kristen’s post made me realize how many gay guys I know who have a breast fetish. They see a nice rack and get this goofy look on their faces like an 18 month old with gas. I thought maybe some of them might be bi, but they say they’re definitely gay. They don’t want to do anything with them; they just like to look. My neighbor feels the same way about her juicer. It’s too much trouble to use because of the clean up, but she likes to see the stainless steel on her kitchen counter.

  16. Love her.

    Love her.

    Love her.

    LOVE HER.

    And then there’s that necklace…

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