Troublesome Travels With The Girls

Sometimes its super annoying to be a girl. Most times it is pretty awesome although I really have nothing else to compare it too…hmmm… This week however I was reminded of a major bummer of being a woman living in society, “Jugs”. Yes they are useful, beautiful, and blah, blah, blah but sometimes I have the need to be negative and whine about something and I found myself bothered by my boobs.

First off during a trail run this week my bosoms would not leave me alone. At first they stayed in place nice and tucked away in their harness that most call “a sports bra”. I headed down a an almost non-existent decent and on my way back up I became very aware of the extra growths on my chest. The slightest movements from there on seemed to throw them this way and that. No matter what kind of sports bra I have movement will eventually happen. Usually I can zone them out but not on this run they were all UP, in my face. I couldn’t help but envy my male counter parts being all arrow dynamic as they ran past. When I unleashed the beasts at home, I couldn’t help but feel they had a better work out then me.

In order to ride to work, I daily strap my ti-tas in their harness and then buckle them in as my day pack chest strap rides right across them like a safety belt. As I’m riding I still have the slightest sensation of gravity pulling. Geez…I wonder how it feels just slip on a shirt and jump on the bike. No pulling or adjusting on the extra baggage….well maybe guys do have some adjusting to do….

I have also noticed myself immediately sending the twin peaks out to the free range as soon as I get home. After a full day of work no matter what job you have, your melons are tired at the end of a long day of bondage. I remember as a small child my mom throwing her bra practically across the house upon crossing the threshold of the living room. What a relief it is to get the torture device off. It is like a small victory to take that thing off!

When I grow up and live in mountains or submit to life as a hobo digging in dumpsters (Darwin and I occasionally do this already) I will no longer have to submit to societies standards and can let the girls hang low, my leg hairs will swoosh in the wind, and my arm pit hairs will live long and prosper.

**This post is dedicated to a reader who is having a bit of boob trouble of her own. You know who you are.





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