Letter to the Triple D's

Dear Triple D breasts.

It's been a long run and I know if it were up to you, you would want us to keep on chugging till I am 50 and you are touching my knees. But I am tired and want to stop lugging you around with me. It's been some 20 odd years that we've been together, albeit that you've not always been this big, but you've always looked this deplorable. I remember thinking, that if I had to go into a store and pick out what you would look like I would not have chosen you to look this way, but alas I was given your sore looks, and I worked with it the best way I could. You've helped me score some good fucks and you, maybe not you but maybe me, have aided in losing those fuckers as well, and we have worked together in the loneliness, in this unending drought. But the time has come for me to separate from you. I promised myself that if I moved to this country the first thing I would do would be to craft you to look the way you would have looked if I had bought you myself. And that time has come, so sad that I am yet to find an excellent craftsman that would aid in that predicament. And I can't help thinking the separation anxiety from you may actually have something to do with it. But I feel that time has come. I wish that you would let me separate from you without any sorrow, no regrets, no hard feelings, it is more personal than anything else, it is more of just enrichment. I unlike all the other triple D's in this world no longer wish to be a part of that sorority and I beg to kindly depart. Please accept my resignation from the Pamela Anderson's of the world and welcome me into the Cameron Diaz's. And I hope you find some other deserving person along the way. It's often been a pleasure.

Your Host.

Anita.