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Fried Eggs (or the trials and tribulations of the minimally appendaged)
My nickname when I was younger was 'treasure'. Because of my sunken chest. Yes, I confess it to the world; my mammarial area bears a striking resemblance to two aspirins on a draining board. Alas, when summer rolls around, and it's time to break out the strappy vest tops, and expose my (lack of) cleavage to the world, it's a dead cert that passing leery builders will not yell out 'Cor, you don't get many of those to the pound, luv!'. Such is the lot of we little women.
It's generally perceived that the sexiest figure on a woman is one with a curvy upper half. When I was about thirteen or fourteen, you couldn't walk into a bloke's room without seeing the obligatory Pamela Anderson in-a-skimpy-silver-bikini poster. Practically every twenty-something male in the United Kingdom will have a copy of FHM lying around, guaranteed to have a busty starlet posing on the front. The waif look might have been the thing on the catwalks, but on the streets you were more likely to hear, 'Kate Moss? Urgh, she's got no tits!' Face it girls: flat just ain't all that.
However, help is available to remedy this problem. If you want to strut your funky stuff with a kick-ass cleavage to boot, there's nothing like two chicken fillets to make you feel drop-dead sexy. Yes, apparently something not wholly indistinguishable from raw meat is supposed to be the miracle cure to acute small-breastedness. The idea is to pop these flesh-coloured pads into your bra, then Bam! Instant boobs, allegedly undetectable to the naked eye. And then there's the old faithful, the trusty wonderbra. It may have enough underwiring to set off airport metal detectors, but phooey if it doesn't give you bazoomas up to your chin. But beware the pitfalls of such magical cures. If you're planning on using your voluptuous new look to lure the opposite sex for a bit of bedroom golf, remember that appearances are deceiving, and false advertising can lead to disappointment when the façade is dropped.
It's not all doom and gloom though - I'm reliably informed by my more well endowed friends that there are some considerable advantages to being petite up top. If you're athletically inclined, you don't have to worry about stray boobs swinging around and whacking you in the face while jogging. You can go braless without the impending fear of everything going south on a permanent basis (though you'll still have to face the embarrassment of perky nipple syndrome on a breezy day). Lying on your front is both possible and not altogether uncomfortable. You stand an outside chance of the male species talking to your face rather than your chest (though the majority will look at your breasts regardless). Your bras don't look like scaffolding, though they might be mistaken for training bras. And let's not forget that there are shapes and sizes to suit everyone.
Small breasts of the world unite!