Wait… Do I Have Big Boobs?!” — A Hilarious Reality Check
Big boob energy, bigger laughs — when life (or door handles) reminds you they exist. #BoobAmnesia
Hey there, fabulous friends! Let’s talk about something we’ve all experienced but rarely admit out loud: those moments when you completely forget about your boobs… until the universe rudely reminds you.
Raise your hand if you’ve ever been minding your own business, living your best life, and then — BAM — someone (or something) hits you with the “Oh right, I have those” realisation.
The Hair Salon Wake-Up Call
So, here’s the story that inspired this whole conversation. I was at the salon last week, chilling with my stylist (who, by the way, is this adorable mid-20s bride-to-be, buzzing with wedding excitement). We were swapping dress pics — because, duh, wedding nostalgia — and I showed her mine from 2014.
Now, let’s be real: my dress was very of its time. Think ruffles, think dramatic lace, think “Why did I think this was timeless?” I joked, “Hey, if you ever want to borrow it, just say the word!” And then, without missing a beat, she looks straight at my chest and says: “Also, I’d need a massive boob job to pull it off.”
RECORD SCRATCH. Now, she wasn’t being rude — just blunt. And honestly? It had been so long since someone pointed out my chest size that I had to pause and think: “Huh. I guess my boobs are still big?” Cue the existential crisis.
The Universal Struggle of “Boob Blindness”. Turns out, I’m not alone. After sharing this story, hundreds of you chimed in with your own hilarious (and painfully relatable) moments of Boob Amnesia. Let’s break it down:
The Shadow Surprise
“I’ll be walking outside, see my shadow, and suddenly — BAM — realise I look like a walking Bratz doll with cartoon proportions.”
Why is it always the shadow that betrays us? One second, you’re just vibing. The next, your silhouette hits you with “Damn, those are some presence.”
The “Oops, That Won’t Fit” Moment
“I grabbed an old vest, tried to zip it up, and immediately went, ‘Oh. Right. Pregnancy boobs are a thing now.’” Nothing like clothing betrayal to remind you that your body has changed.
Whether it’s post-pregnancy, weight fluctuations, or just ageing in general, we’ve all had that “Nope, not happening” moment with an outfit we used to love.
The Door Handle Dilemma
“I’m short, so door handles are at the perfect height to either (a) stab me in the tit or (b) catch my bra strap like a fishing hook.” If you’ve ever walked into a room and left with a bruised ego (and boob), you’re not alone.
Door handles? Enemies. Car horns accidentally honked by the boobs? A tragic comedy.
The Group Photo Shock
“I’ll be sent a group pic and immediately spot myself — not by my face, but by the cleavage eclipse happening in the front row.”
Nothing humbles you faster than realizing your boobs have their spotlight in every photo. “Oh, that’s me? Oh. Oh no.”
The “Cute Dress, But…” Struggle
“I’ll send my friends a dress I love, and they’ll respond: ‘And where exactly do you plan on putting your boobs?’” The eternal battle of “This would look great… if I were flat-chested.”
Low-cut dresses? Strappy tops? All lies.
The Emotional Rollercoaster of Big Boob Life
Now, let’s be real — having big boobs isn’t always a joke. Sometimes, it’s exhausting. Shopping for clothes? A nightmare. Finding a supportive bra? A quest worthy of The Lord of the Rings. Being sexualized when you’re just… existing? Infuriating. And let’s not forget the unsolicited comments from strangers who think your chest is public property.
(No, Karen, I don’t want to hear your opinion on my cleavage.) But here’s the thing: Our bodies are just… our bodies. They’re not trends, they’re not debates, and they’re not up for public critique.
Final Thoughts: Embrace the Chaos
At the end of the day, whether you love them, hate them, or just forget they exist until they cause a problem, your boobs are part of your story. So here’s to: The accidental boob honks. The “Wait, that’s me in that photo?!” moments. The friends who lovingly remind us, “Babe, that top is a hazard.” And most importantly — to laughing about it all. Because if we don’t laugh, we’ll cry. And honestly? Crying gives me a headache. Now it’s your turn!
Drop your most “Oh right, my boobs exist” moment in the comments. Let’s make this a safe space for shared trauma (and humour). And to the creeps lurking in the DMS: Don’t. I will not be responding to your weird messages about my “titties.” Go touch grass. Stay fabulous, friends.