The Evil Twins

I was cursed with breasts at a fairly young age. Yes, I said cursed. I was totally fine, going along with my mosquito bites, cheerfully unaware of the evil that lurked in men's hearts until a crappy family vacation in which I ate too many chips and chocolate suddenly made these boobs appear. And suddenly, boys paid more attention to me. Well, not to me, to the hypnotic "fun bags" suddenly attached to my ribs. Suddenly, I had not-so-nice nicknames and various titty-ditties written about me, and not one of them rhymed. Old pervy men who wouldn't have noticed me before if I had fallen on them ("look where you're going, boy!") suddenly leered and ogled and practically drooled as I walked past, asking if I was single and available for various acts that would get them arrested in most states. And if we were going out to church or a family bbq, my poor father took to throwing sweaters, jackets, blankets or sheets at me, clucking and tsk-tsking and shaking his head, murmuring "cover them UP, for God's sake! You look like a trollop!" when just a few months before that same dress or shirt made me look like a schoolhouse kid extra on "Little House On The Prairie".
So, I suppose, now that I'm a full-grown woman, it's great I got 'em, some people have to pay money for 'em (not to SEE them, I meant plastic surgery!)but when I have to run with 2 sportsbras or I'm asked if I would let the "tittens" come out to play, I fondly think back to a more innocent time, a time of asexual mosquito bites.