A is for Augmentation

Is it just me or is there just a ginormous growth of breast augmentation these days (no pun intended)? I remember when breast amplification was for the rich or deformed. Nowadays, I'm starting to feel like the rejected member of the babysitters club. Every where I look there is a great or not-so-great pair of jubblies bouncing down the sidewalk and I just wonder where the funds come from.

I myself have a pair of natural apples. No, crab apples. I'm a petite gal so they work well for me but every now and then, when the right dress or bathing suit comes a long, I wish I had more like..... grapefruits. So I make grapefruits. Yep, I am that girl. I'm broke so I have a pair of gel filled falsies that look much like chicken cutlets that help me fill my top and shallow bucket of physical self-esteem. I used to wear them under my cheer uniform back in my professional days and tried to bribe God not to let them fall out on the field in front of the audience of 5,000 in mid performance. I finally just sewed them in figuring God wasn't all that hot on bribes. They helped balance out the badonkadonk I trail behind me. So knowing the high one can get from having a great pair of milk wagons, I get why everyone wants them. I just don't understand what some women do with them.

I can only dream of the elation of having a near perfect/perfect rack. I would love to fill out sweaters, sweatshirts, heck, even a tank top with more than something that resembles tapioca filled sandwich bags. But I have a beautiful friend who had the simple desire to just feel more feminine emerge from her enlargement with the unquenchable desire to dress like a porn star. Is it the silicone that turns common fashion sense into justification for wearing your mono-kini to wal-mart for a toilet paper run? I'm not saying all hypermammiferous women do this because I have numerous friends who sport their new moon pies in good taste. But it just seems that more and more some women just lose their frontal lobe and start dressing like their selling donut advertisements rather than going to the PTA meeting. Those are usually the ones with titastrophes, anyway making it doubly worse.

So to all you beauties sporting your newly purchased knockers sensibly, I salute you. I am jealous. I would love to be Boobs McGee without my matching barbie doll water beds shoved in my bra. But alas, I am a "don't fix it if it ain't broke" kinda girl. I'll wait for my possible future offspring to wreck 'em first. I just hope I don't emerge looking or dressing like Pamela Anderson.