Hello there, lovelies. It’s been a while, I know. I try not to bug you guys too much; I guess I figure with all the attention Kyle gives you, you don’t need me doting on you. But there’s a reason I decided to write you guys today, so here goes.
I feel I owe you guys an apology. I know I’m a little hard on you guys. At the time of our last correspondence, I was pretty disappointed with you girls; face it, you were completely out of control. Spilling out of everything, popping out everywhere; you guys were a mess. So we had a serious talk and I went about my business, expecting you girls to get your shit together.
And, apparently, you took your charge seriously. Very seriously. In fact, I think you went a little overboard. If you remember right, I asked you to get out of the way, not get smaller. There was never any mention of getting smaller. In fact, Kyle has threatened on numerous occasions to force-feed me cake if by some chance you guys got any smaller. (Win-win?)
And yet, I apparently put the fear of god in you guys, because it appears that you have receded into my chest. That’s what happened, right? I was so angry at you that I freaked you guys out and you sank into my chest? Because there’s no way you guys just shrank. I mean, sure, I lost some weight, so a lot of other parts of me shrank. But not you guys. You guys wouldn’t do that to me, right?
Which explains our frigid relationship as of late. Face it, I wasn’t happy with you. You never seemed to live up to your former glory. Sure, it was annoying to have you popping out of low-cut shirts, but it was equally annoying to have to try and prop you up in a bra that was now clearly too big. And that gap. The one where my shirts fall down into the gap between my boob and my bra because you don’t freaking fill the thing out anymore? What the hell, girls? Truth be told girls, you kind-of looked like failures, sitting puddle-like in your 34D bra. I was ashamed of you. (I think it’s worth mentioning, however, that Kyle never lost his love for you. What can I say, the man likes his melons.)
But today, I saw you guys in a new light. And a new bra. A 34C, to be exact. (You can thank the “$10 off any bra” coupon that was attached to the “free pantie” coupon from Victoria’s Secret.) And it’s amazing how much less pathetic you guys looked, sitting proudly upright in a properly fitting (and decidedly fuchsia) bra. And sure, you girls aren’t quite as voluptuous as you once were, but you no longer looked like sad, squishy little lumps. You looked like a respectable set of boobs.
And so, I apologize, boobs. I’m sorry I was embarrassed by you. I’m sorry I was ashamed of you. And I’m sorry I lost faith in you. I should have known that all along the problem was mine, not yours. And as soon as Victoria’s Secret has another semi-annual sale, I promise you, I will fix this problem. (And until then, get friendly with that fuchsia bra, because you’ll be wearing it until it starts to smell.)