I just found a photo of you, aged 22, in all your glory.
I MISS YOU GUYS.
Seriously, where did you go? Well, obviously I know where you went. South, mostly. For warmer climes, no doubt. It's understandable.
But when I look back on you now... 10 years ago... oh my goodness me. It's true: you don't know what you've got until it's gone. Or given into the call of gravity. Quite how you defied the natural laws of physics in such a way, goodness only knows. I should have known it was too good to last.
Not, you understand, that I've mistreated you. I've never taken the call of women's lib as encouragement to throw my bra into the fire and set you free. Not me. (Not least because I didn't really fancy the two inevitable resulting black eyes if I tried moving around sans bra.) No, you've always been gently clad in scratchy lace, polyester and two steel wires. (Funny, when I write it down like that it doesn't seem quite as appealing as I always thought it might be.) Encouraging your defying-gravity ways.
I'm not sure when you lost your 22 year old shine, pertness and wonder. You might possibly have retained it for another two or three years past then, until suddenly you had two small mouths attached to two shouty sucky things launched upon you in quick succession. (I wouldn't moan about it though. You should see what my vagina has to say about babies...) Faced with that kind of assault, who can blame you if you - well - deflated.
Oh, and then there was the on off on off on off FOR TEN WHOLE YEARS weight loss/gain. A harsh choice between spherical globes of beauty (and a fat arse) and hanging sacks with their bottoms filled with lard (but pert butt cheeks). It's a difficult one.
There was a time when you guys were REVERED. Revered, I tell you. By me, at least. And I don't think Neil has had too many complaints. Now though - well. I'll be honest. I look at you, and I want to weep. Weep for your innocent, unadulterated youth. If the 22 year old you could see the you of today... well, it's just as well I didn't shatter your dreams like that. Denial is a marvellous thing. Even for mammaries.
And so, Breasts, I ask this one thing of you. Please, whatever you do, don't continue the next 10 years in the same rapid state of decline. It's a terrible thing when you start to physically recoil from parts of your own body. And it's not like my children aren't going to need enough therapy as it is. Nipple leg warmers are vastly overrated so please, stay where you are, and think strong, gravity-defying thoughts.
You're going to need them.