There was a time that I would have been almost afraid to broach this subject because of its nature, but then I realised that – the more a subject is avoided – the more likely it is that it needs to be brought out for polite and sensitive discussion. Not neccessarily Dinner Party conversation, but something that needs to be mentioned once in a while nonetheless.

I do not feel nervous when it comes to speaking about the “fuller figure”, for I class myself in this category and I am proud of my body. It suits me and the size of my persona (quite gregarious, fun-loving and friendly – I’ll talk to anybody from anywhere) and I look and feel far healthier than I ever did when I was thin.

But what constitutes a “fuller figure”? Do definitions vary from person to person, and do some people genuinely see the phrase applied and automatically decide that someone simply found a polite way of saying “fat bird”? Are impressions of curvacious women and their desirability changing in the public view as we naturally evolve with new body shapes and sizes over the generations anyway?

If you were to see me on the street I wouldn’t particularly stand out to you; I’d be just another fair-haired curvy girl in the crowd. Nothing “larger” in particular about me, because I’m reasonably tall and slender, with broad shoulders from my days as a semi-pro swimmer, slim legs, a flattish stomach and roughly the same build as Tribble. I am not overweight and am probably even slightly under what I ought to be.

What makes me “fuller-figured” are my natural curves. The curves that make me unquestionably female; the curves that allow me to carry a child in my womb and feed it when it’s born – or did until I decided to get my tubes tied (but that’s another story).

Now here is what brought me to post this vaguely formulated debate out into the ether in the first place:

Breasts. I have them. In spades. You simply cannot miss them, because they are Just There. They walk into a room before I do! My best friend makes good natured jokes about my “Weapons Of Mass Distraction” when I get annoyed with them just parked there on my chest like two lumps of concrete.

At 42D (in English money, that is) I am also a very awkward size to buy for. This makes shopping for bras both difficult and expensive; I can no longer simply walk into Asda, pick a pretty bra from the rack and purchase it.

No; women with large, awkward boobs have to go to specialist shops or go online. We have to pay an awful lot more than a lady who can just nip into New Look and snag a gorgeous, lacy confection in exactly the style she wanted (half-cup, balconette… the kind I used to always plump for when I was a perky 34B).

I can’t find those lovely, romantic bras anywhere any more. For me it’s a plain and practical over-the-shoulder-boulder-holder with enough underwiring to raise the Titanic. Yes, they’re comfortable, but there’s something missing.

Us larger ladies like to feel glamorous and desirable and feminine too.

I used to be able to go quite nuts on this site when I was smaller in the boobage department. Not only is the site fabulous for bargains, but I was spoiled for choice when it came to colours, brands and designs. Forget practical – for me it was sexy all the way, baby! And why shouldn’t I have had the satisfaction of having a bit of a naughty secret underneath my clothes at work? It makes a girl feel confident, smug, desirable and – quite frankly – aroused.

Do I no longer deserve to feel like this? Am I deemed “too fat to be sexy” because I have a pair of breasts that insisted on being just a couple of backwidths too large? It’s not as though I ate all the pies (and probably wouldn’t get any larger if I did – I have that sort of metabolism) and I certainly didn’t request an upgrade from Pomegranates to Water Melons!

Epilepsy medication has wrought a large number of the changes my body has undergone, as has my age. I appreciate that boobs are going to become lower, wider and fuller as you leave your 30′s; that won’t change no matter what you do.

But please, 38 surely isn’t so old that I no longer wish to wear something colourful and racy for my husband underneath my jeans and sweater?

My clothing catalogue has sent my details to an underwear company who caters to the “larger lady”. I’ve been sneering or giggling because I was – all unknowing – wearing an incorrect bra size, and I’ve been throwing the brochures away.

Next time I’m keeping it and will hope to find something pretty in a style, colour and fabric that I actually want to wear. I especially need to find something glamorous enough to wear underneath my wedding dress!

So, dear lingerie manufacturers of the world, please take note: if all us larger breasted ladies wanted was practicality and comfort, we’d be making our own dowdy bras from flour sacks and gaffer tape.

Please do not view the lady-lumps as a seperate life form, simply because the rest of me is a svelte size 12 – the lady-lumps want skimpy, sexy things to wear too!