Everytime I look down, there is my cleavage staring monstrously up into my face. I don't know what sort of reaction it wants. But I can tell you this much, I've never felt so anti-objectified in my life. They are pretty much like "We are boobs. We are pretty. Or at least mildly scintilliating. And titillating. What do you bring to the table?" And I am speechless. Because how do you one-up yourself? They are giving me a major inferiority complex and considering that my head is in the clouds today as is, it's just not necessary. They are out of line, and I wish it could be something as simple as asymmetry but that would be the least of my worries.

This conflict of interest between my torso and I wouldn't be such a problem if there were not all this idle worship of breasts in society, as lovely as they are.
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