THESE writers have something to get off their chest.
After Ulrika Jonsson penned a furious letter to her breasts, five Sun writers want to share their thoughts on their bosom.
Ulrika, 52, took to Instagram last week to complain about the fluctuating size and shape of her assets.
She told how she had a breast reduction in 2009, to flatter her shape, but the menopause had caused them to inflate.
And having unexpectedly lost weight recently, she has watched her bosom shrink and lose “volume”. The mum-of-four ended her blistering rant: “Seriously, t*ts. You get on my t*ts.”
Here, Page 3 girls Rhian Sugden and Peta Todd, and writers Bella Battle, Samantha Brick, and Luce Brett reveal what their breasts have meant to them over the years.
‘While you’ve still got it, flaunt it’
Rhian Sugden says: Hey Girls,
You’ve had many names over the years, chosen by boyfriends, instagrammers and Page 3 fanatics, but to me you will always be the Girls.
I am forever grateful for the opportunities you have given me in my life – you have opened up more doors for me than any man ever has.
My glorious boobs, thanks for being such troupers and going with the flow when I decided I wanted to flash you to the general public. Twelve years and counting you’ve done me proud, Girls. What with your late arrival into my life I felt the need to show those bullies, who called me flat-chested, that good things come to those who wait.
I love the fact that you are a pair of show-offs. No matter how much I try to cover you up, you always, somehow, manage to let the world know you exist. I’m sorry for threatening to slice you off to a smaller cup size but your endless fluctuations can be quite stressful at times.
Some days you make it difficult for me to run up the stairs, and my dance moves are no longer my own – you certainly know how to steal my thunder.
But I just want to say thanks for always being the front of house and shaping my clothes nicely. Most of all, thanks for giving me the opportunity to forge a career where I have been able to earn a living and become one of the longest-standing Page 3 girls.
Without you this would have been impossible.
I’m forever grateful for your existence and my femininity exudes because of you.
I promise to be more supportive in our ups and downs, and I dread the day that gravity takes over and you have to stare at the ground.
Until then – while you’ve still got it, flaunt it.
Love, Rhian Sugden
‘Girls, you were my suit of armour’
Peta Todd says: Ahhhh boobs,
My dear old not-quite-as-gravity-defying-as-you-once-were boobs.
For almost a decade you paid my wages and became a suit of armour, protecting me from the judgments of who I was because of my Page 3 job.
I found it easier to brush off the stereotype when people made assumptions about the type of person that was behind the bra.
At school, I knew I was the same person I was before puberty hit but now I needed bigger shirts that fitted properly.
When you developed almost overnight, it prompted girls at school to snipe that I “stuffed my bra” and boys to suddenly care what I had to say.
I found it confusing that the size of my crop top could change how people thought of me.
I quickly learned it was about them, not me or my bra size, and I couldn’t let it affect how I viewed my body.
Do I sometimes wish you were smaller so I could wear nice tops and pretty bras? Yup. Or at least lighter so I didn’t get huge dips in my shoulders from their weight? For sure.
I certainly do wish society didn’t define our intelligence or worth by a cup size.
But when I think of you, my boobs now, I don’t think of the magazine covers or the dirty looks from girls thinking I had them “on display” on purpose, when I had actually tried to hide them.
I think of my babies tucked in, close to my heart as they took their first breath.
I can feel a clammy hand of a restless toddler inside my top for comfort and them shouting out “boooobies” when I’m getting dressed.
I have both loved and loathed “the girls” over the years but I am not them and they are not me.
But together our story certainly hasn’t been boring.
Love Peta Todd
‘Your small size pleases me greatly’
Samantha Brick says: Hey Girls!
I am celebrating my 49th birthday next month and I want to say thank you for getting me this far.
When I admire you in the mirror, you please me greatly. You haven’t headed south. You don’t droop. You haven’t a single stretch mark. You certainly haven’t given me any back pain, either. Granted your 34B size swells a bit just before my period, but if anything, I like you even more then.
I know I wasn’t always happy with you and for that I am sorry.
In my late teens, when I was stuck with a tiny cleavage, I was dead frustrated. Back then Samantha Fox had glorious D cups. That’s why I toyed with the idea of tinkering with your size.
In my 20s I wanted Baywatch-sized boobs, but thank God I didn’t get them. The ease with which we were booked to go under the knife put me off for starters. That’s why, in my 30s, I visited another – more sensible – surgeon, who advised me to pop bags filled with rice into each cup of the bra size I thought I wanted. When I did, I was horrified – I was Dolly Parton-esque.
That was 15 years ago. Since then I’ve been very happy to say “I’ve got small boobs”.
Small boobs are Mother Nature’s best kept secret. You look perfectly perky braless in a vest top, string bikini or boob tube.
That’s why I bloody love you girls.
Love Samantha Brick
‘Even when I dieted you’d stick around’
Luce Brett says: You two,
You exceeded expectations (and regular sizes) from the start. You were easy to hate, wobbling, heavy as others wore pretty crop tops.
You always upstaged me, entered rooms first and restricted my choice of wedding dress.
I resented it when people stared or spoke to you, not to my face.
When strangers gawped – or worse – groped you I wanted to shout, “This is my body, not a fashion choice. They aren’t who I am”.
But life went on. I accepted that even when I dieted you just stuck around, belligerently buxom.
You shone when my babies came. Midwives helped you to feed. Pumps increased supply. And soon you were my resilient “lucky t*ts”, the good news after a long and gruelling delivery.
You gave me a view I’ll never forget – a little head, feeding, my sons bobbing and snuggling.
Sagging, and still needing some support, you emerged a monument to the ups and downs of womanhood. Like me, a little broken, stretch-marked from ambition and hard work but still hanging on. In mid-life you are a reminder, too.
We all know too many who have lost a boob – had them removed, cut up, rebuilt. We’ve seen too many women in that medical nightmare after a cell went rogue.
You had another lesson for me last year, when we lost a friend.
Whatever shape or size you are, you are at least still here. And I am grateful, very grateful, for that.
Love Luce Brett
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‘You’re actually a pair of riotous smashers’
Bella Battle says: Dear Funbags,
Oh how I hated you when I was young. Longing to be girlish and slight, I prayed for a neat handful so I wouldn’t need a bra in summer.
Instead, you bounded on the scene like two ungainly terriers squabbling over a squeaky toy.
Poring over magazine articles on “his biggest physical turn-offs”, I was convinced you were all wrong. Boobs that were “right” resembled plump little peaches with a tiny cherry on top. You were like a very drunk version of that.
You wobbled too much, you couldn’t be bothered to stand to attention, and (your worst sin) you played merry hell with the nipple-to-breast ratio.
I quite liked that you were big but I was otherwise deeply ashamed of you.
Years later, I see what a waste of energy all that misery was – you’re actually a pair of riotous smashers.
I give less of a toss about perfection the older I get. So where once I wanted a refund, now I’m pretty chuffed with you.
You make me feel powerful and sexy. I know what clothes flatter you and men seem to love you.
Even better, I love you.
Of course, it helps that gravity and children have levelled the playing field around me.
My friends may mourn the perky boobs of their youth but I secretly, guiltily, welcome them to my club.
I’ve also seen women I love wrestle with breast cancer, forced to rebuild the jigsaw of their femininity after mastectomies. So I know how lucky I am to have you.
I buy lingerie that flatters and hugs, rather than tortures you. I recently weighed you on some kitchen scales at a party.
I intend to cherish every single second you remain perched higher than my navel.
Yours gratefully Bella Battle