What ever you call ’em…

Rack, Dingle-bobbers, Tits, Norgs, Twins, Hangers I was fourteen when I realised that boys like tits. They loved a nice set of twins that were pert and firm, and at that particular time, mine were. I was a D-cup in year 9 and that attracted some attention. I’ll be honest, it wasn’t all unwanted either. There was a time when I had an okay figure and a spanking rack that went with it. I still have a ‘rack’ although it’s not standing as straight as it used to and its grown a few more shelves…they’re more like dingle-bobbers now. Gravity is not the friend of big breasted women, and if they tell you any different, they’re lying their arse off – or they’re fake! Natural norgs need help, that’s a fact. They go from a set of nice tits to a pair of hangers real fucking quick and with no warning.

Cans, Breasts, Mammary glands, Bazookas, Mozzie Bites I’ve wrestled with my breast all my life. I don’t ever remember being any smaller than a C-cup. Somehow I went from a little triangle training bra, that was just covering my mozzie-bite-sized mammary glands to a C cup, and then WHAM, they are fucking out of control. How does it happen? Breast feeding, sport, and just living in general is all so much harder when your cans are gifuckingnormous and let’s be honest, that’s exactly what mine are. I’d love to play golf with my hubby but swinging a golf stick with bazookas between your arms while holding a golf stick is very fucking testing, awkward and not to mention uncomfortable. I was once asked by my inquisitive 6-year-old if they “flapped” when I ran, and like that wasn’t enough, before I could answer him, he had made his own assumption and followed through with “that must really hurt Mum!” Ya think buddy? And off he wandered.


Puppies, Clappers, Chesticles, The Girls It sounds ridiculous I know, but The Girls are hazardous; just laying on your back can cause suffocation by chesticle; there’s no way I would feel a lump in my puppies, actually I could lose a real puppy in them and not even know let alone finding a lump the size of a pea; running without a bra or even running in a normal bra is just plain STUPID and extremely dangerous to myself, and then visually, anyone watching is likely to be scarred for life. The name clappers doesn’t come from no where you know.

Pair, Boobs, Bust, Melons, Fun Bags, Flapdoodles, Lungs Having a pair that have their own postcode is expensive. Shopping for bras to fit huge boobs is extremely depressing and stressful. I dream about walking into a lingerie shop and saying “I’m a 14GG and I’d like a pretty, lacy, white bra for my fun bags please?” I’m more likely to find that puppy I lost earlier or worse still, lose my sanity and every ounce of dignity I have left after trying on three hundred and one bras and none of them fitting my fucking flapdoodles! If I’m lucky I might leave with a black, or tan plain Jane minimiser. A bra shopping day results in tears of frustration and no bra more often than not. I’m about to go on my biennial bra shopping day, which this time round means finding a new shop because the one I used to go to closed down. Fucking lucky me right? I’m already anxious about it and keep making excuses not to bother. For me buying a bra to fit my lungs that comes directly off a shopping rack is not as easy as it sounds. I haven’t bought a bra from Target or K-Mart EVER!! They don’t stock the sizes to fit melons. Bra’s n Things claim to fit larger busts, but I haven’t been able to buy a bra from there in over a decade, and that was ordered in. To add to all the frustration, I have never purchased a bra under $50.00, hence why I make them last two years.


Cha Cha’s, Hooters, Balcony, Sex can be interesting with a set of cha cha’s doing their own tango. They get in the way constantly, banging and slapping around, not at all graceful or sexy. I mean this is just my opinion and I am certain my hubby thinks differently. Men seem to love the varying sizes of hooters, the bigger the better apparently. I guess its easy to love something that’s not hanging off their chest and constantly being the resident bench for toast crumbs or dripping soup. Having a balcony that’s perched under your chin I guess can be an advantage at times… I’m trying to think of an example, just give me a minute…

Grillwork, Headlights, Fun Bags, Jugs, The weather can create havoc with your headlights, full beam is really embarrassing when you’re wearing a sheer shirt… or not so sheer shirt. Oh and there’s another subject, shirts! Buttons on fucking shirts are a decent-set of jugs, arch nemesis. A shirt will burst open at the most inauspicious time, guaranteed, showing the whole audience your Grillwork. I bet not one of the blokes in the audience will tell you that your fun bags are showing their stuff!


Knockers, Bosom, Titty, Norgs Obscenely huge fake bosoms are just ridiculous. Having lived with a pair of knockers that weigh more than a small child, I cannot understand the reasoning that is behind women increasing their norgs to unrealistic proportions. Having a titty job makes sense when it’s for self-esteem and within normal parameters but going from an already busty D cup to a boob the size of a beach ball is fucking bawdy, wanton and outrageous in my eyes.

Chest Pillows, Honkers, Lady Lumps, Boobies, Rib Bumpers, Naturally I inspect my boobies often and I love them most when I stretch my arms up high above me head. Go on ladies, tell me you’ve never done that… This action tends to lift my honkers UP and they sit there on my breast-plate looking like a perfect set of rib bumpers. I’ve considered a reduction, more times than I can count, but I’ve come to the understanding that my chest pillows are just how they’re meant to be. Yeah they might be heavy and my backs rooted because of them; and yeah they cost me a fortune and create un-necessary stress, but I’m not sure I could deal with the pain of surgery, the scarring and then the chance that the surgeon might fuck it up royally and I end up with a pair of ugly, funky shaped lady lumps that I hate more than I did before. I’ll just leave them be.

Who wants to come bra shopping with me?

Make sure you turn the teapot twice clockwise and once anticlockwise!


5 thoughts on “What ever you call ’em…

  1. I used to have to go to specialty shops too, I’ve cried in bra shops, buying bathers is terrible- hence why I have none, the most obscure size I’ve been is an 8GG and that cost me over 100$ 😦 I’m now a 10DD-E which is a shit size in itself, so yes I’d go bra shopping with you, but I’ll need to take out a loan first and then can we go to a pub after? Xx


  2. Pingback: Fucket List Updated | Noms Blog in a Teacup

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