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No one ever says, “I want bigger boobs because that is what I’ve been told to want.” Or, “I want big boobs because that’s what the patriarchy wants.”

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STAIRS.

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I’m just gonna throw this out there: big boobs rock.

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The months of fighting with crop tops, bandeaus, weird strapped shirts, and strapless bras are almost over. We are in the home stretch ladies; comfy sweater weather (and comfy bra weather) is almost here.

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Boobies. Tits. Breasts. Bosoms. Jugs. Sweater Stretchers. Knockers. Amen.

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2. Never going bra shopping.

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I’m owning my bra privilege. I love bra shopping but that’s because it’s ridiculously easy to find cute, cheap, readily available bras when you have bitty titties.

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I was raised by a family of huge breasts. My mother is a histrionic, busty blonde Mexican, along with the rest of her side of the family. My father’s mother, a very tiny but feisty entrepreneur, is a Double D and only 5’1″. And my father’s most recent wife was also a Double D — post surgery, at least.