Two bumps. Fried eggs, sunny side up. Nothing truly notable. Tube tops flattened them. I was in sixth grade and it happened. I sprouted boobs. I wore an ill fitting bra purchased from K-Mart under my Holly Hobby button down shirt. There I was in all my string bean splendour; straight leg jeans leading down to big feet. My feet haven't really grown since sixth grade. Imagine Olive Oyle with a shag haircut and really dreadful glasses. That was me. I was one of the first girls to grow boobs. It's not like I wished them upon myself. Genetics made it happen. My mother was busty. My sisters were always packin' a minimum of C-cups. I was perusing some older photographs and was delighted to see that I did, indeed, have normal sized breasts at some point in my life. Well, normal for the women in my family, that is. Comfortable bras have always eluded me. As I got older, gained weight, gave birth, breast fed .... my boobs have grown with me like the trees of the Amazon. Sadly, my b...
