Cupping my breasts in front of my bedroom mirror, I imagined how I’d look without them.
‘They’re rubbish boobs anyway,’ I sighed.
Prodding and poking them with a scowl.
It was 2011, and I was only 18, but while my mates all had nice, perky pairs that spilled out over low-cut tops, mine felt saggy.
The worst thing was, while my right breast had grown to a voluptuous double D, the left had stopped at a C cup.
Uneven breasts weren’t uncommon, or even a health risk.
But nothing seemed to fit right, and while I made do with a double-D-cup bra, I didn’t wear anything low-cut or too revealing.
