A Revelation: I Have Small Breasts!

I have small breasts! You might think that I would have noticed this previously, but to tell you the truth, I have never given a whole lot of thought to my breasts. I know that a lot of women fuss about them, restraining them in EMF-targeting, underwire cancer traps and using them as their calling cards for expensive dinners and trips to Europe.

The thing is that most women, something over 90 percent, don't even like their breasts, even after all this attention that they--and men--give them. I have always liked my breasts, on the rare occasions that I even consider them. They're perky and alert, facing the world head on, never sagging, always as firm and upright as the day they emerged from my chest back in junior high.

I always knew my breasts were not gargantuan and that I'd have to put my breasts in a vice to get any cleavage. I guess I knew on an intellectual level that my breasts were small, but it never really hit home until recently.

I was on a one-time craigslist "date," and the man commented that I had small breasts. This was an observation, as one might observe that a 90-year-old woman is old. Not a criticism, just an observation. I held them and took a good look at them, then told him I agreed with him, and that I really have always liked my breasts.

Since then, from time to time, I have surveyed the women about me, looking at their breasts. This is much the same way that I have long surveyed people in a restaurant or standing in line at the post office or people clustered in some other public space. I count up the people and then count the ones that are overweight. Sure enough, it turns out about 70 percent of them are, just like government statistics tell us. So recently, I have been doing the same with women's breasts. And do you know, I AM smaller than the average gal. Actually, with a B cup size, I'm probably in the lower 10 percentile.

This is a real revelation to me: I have small breasts! I don't mind it. It's just that it's interesting. The only thing that I sometimes wonder is: If I had a C cup, would that change my life? Would I be with a wonderful guy right this moment if my breasts were gargantuan or even if they were average-sized? Could the cause of my solitary life really be that superficial?