Taming the Beasts

TAMING THE BEASTS

Breasts may tantalize the male,
But I’d rather put mine up for sale.
Or exchange them at a bring and buy
For the compact tackle of a guy.

At thirteen I just couldn’t wait
To develop boobs; attract a mate.
But though the fat piled on my legs,
Nature gave me two fried eggs.

At parties it was hard to pull
With a bosom made of cotton wool.
Stuffed inside my bra of lace
And often slipping out of place.

Men came and went, then late in life.
I found my man, became a wife.
Conceived a babe. What do you know?
My little bust began to grow.

I fed a daughter, then a son,
Being a milk machine’s no fun.
I watched my children as they grew,
As they filled out, my boobs did too.

Last year I went for my first scan.
Oh how I wish I was a man.
Pummelled, squashed and mangled too,
My poor, sore breasts were black and blue.

Yesterday, I bent too far,
My bulbous mounds fell out my bra.
I searched my drawers but must admit,
I couldn’t find a bra to fit.

So before my boobs begin to drop
I’m off to find a specialist shop.
Seek a professional, book a sitting,
And pay up for a proper fitting.

Well, fellas would it give you pleasure
To have your bits exposed to measure?
To be pushed and prodded, put on show,
In front of people you don’t know?

So after going through contortions,
They’ve figured out the right proportions.
Through the bras the assistants sift
To help give me that vital lift.

Now, two hours later I am free,
To take home my new lingerie.
I’m quite perplexed and cannot figure,
Why, as I age, my boobs get bigger.

It’s come as quite a big surprise,
I never knew bras came this size.
So now my bosom won’t be dropping,
And I can use the spare for shopping.

Men’s tackle comes in various guises,
Contrasting shapes and differing sizes.
But that’s no problem, as you know,
They just pop it in their shorts and go.

I conclude that breasts are overrated,
They just make life so complicated.
Enormous knockers are no joke,
Next time I'll come back as a bloke!