Dragged my sick self through Kohl’s over the weekend after I dropped the kids off with their dad. I had Kohl’s cash (my reward for early summer clothes shopping for the kids) that was expiring that day, and, well, I don’t let $20 in free clothes go to waste, even with a fever.
You would think the most horrifying thing I saw that evening was my sheet-white, makeup-free, matted-head self in the mirror of the dressing room, but you’d be wrong. Because Kohl’s was filled with BOOB HAMMOCKS.
The boob hammock is also known as the shelf bra, and it’s often found attached to those camisole tank top things so that small-boobed women and ladies who don’t have gravity-challenged boobs and fake-boobed chicks and tween girls with perky little boobies and every other kind of woman who isn’t me can go braless with an inordinate amount of confidence that that tiny little thin layer of cotton will provide an appropriate level of support.
Riiiiiggghhhttt. We’re well past that.
I’d love to prance around in one of those tank tops. I’d wear it to the gym. I’d wear it to the mall. I’d wear it day and night and feel 10 feet tall.
Actually, I’d wear it around the house and nowhere else, and when my kids came in the room I’d cross my arms under my boobs to make them look like they’re more up where they should be. Plus, I’d suck my stomach way in, because the bottom of the hammock, where that elastic band is, pushes in on the top of your rib cage, which makes the area directly underneath it pouf out, which means that not only do my boobs look ridiculous, but I also look pregnant.
And very, very attractive. All of that, except for that last part.
So Kohl’s has one-upped every other place in the free world that sells these boob hammock tank tops, and is now selling boob hammock dresses. I pulled three of them into the dressing room without knowing what was lurking there under the dress. They never left the hangers.
And I left dejected. Sad, sick big boobie girl.
The truth is, big boobs are polarizing. If you have ‘em, you might love them, you might tolerate them, you might hate them occasionally (like when you’re the first girl in your 4th grade class to need a bra and the hideously awful older girl on your street starts picking on you out of blind jealousy, only you’re too young to realize it’s jealousy, so you just wish you were flat-chested). You might do all three at different times and also curse the boob gods when you can’t prance around day and night in a camisole.
If you don’t have ‘em, you may envy those who do or you may buy a pair. Or you just say screw it and prance around in your camisole with abandon. Bitches.