You're so vain...I bet you think this blog is about you.

These frigging tits. Over it. Completely over it. This rack has been a 'C' cup since I was a barely 5 ft tall, 105 lb 8th grader. They enter a room before the rest of me does. In high school they maxed out my upper body at a sturdy 'D' cup...then when I reallyyyyyy filled out...BOOM- 'DD' by the time I was 20. Weighing a bucktwenty left me unproportioned to say the least. Now, in my mid thirties and two kids later...they need to be gone. Years of being smacked, slapped, twisted, pinched, poked, and milked have taken their toll. The girls have had a good run, but I am ready to say toodles. They look alright, per the life they have led. Let's face it though...let's be real. What was once top of the line Saks Fifth Avenue has become more thrift shop. Not like local thrift shop though, more like a thrift shop in Beverly Hills. Second hand none the less...so I would much rather they not make it to their dollar bin days. About time for the squat challenge to come back into play too. Just need to have that checkup and make sure my uterus and ovaries aren't going to tumble out mid-squat. It has only been a couple weeks since springing my gorgeous baby from my muffin, and maybe I'm being a little vain...but let's face it- well, actually, LET'S not. It's my fucking body. It's the only one I get and at 34 it isn't getting any perkier, or becoming any quicker at perking itself back up. If that means reducing the size of these big fat jugs, squatting till' the cows come home and not sliding any carbs down my throat, then so be it. I have no goal weight, no goal size. Only the perfectly attainable feeling of "look how hot my ass is in this flesh that I have got".  
And since I have yet to see cellulite or stretchmarks-  the least I can do is show my genes some gratitude by taking care of my body. Get it right, keep it tight, am I right?