But what if the male anatomy was prone to such fashion fads? "Well, boys, this season it's small appendages. We want them lopped and chopped." Then, "Gee boys, the new look is big. We want them long and strong. It's penis implants and the WonderY."

In the last year alone, breast trends have gone from "side boob" to "under boob". Imagine men's bits becoming similarly accessorised. You don't see Brad Pitt on the red carpet saying, "I couldn't decide between showing a bit of side testicle or just a flash of ball crease and bit of dickage.

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"As a teenager, my cups did not runneth over. To B cup or not to B cup, that was the question. I tried exercises – "I must, I must increase my bust" – trainer bras and Wonderbras – so called because when you take them off, you wonder where the hell your breasts went.

One of the most humiliating moments of my life involved a silicon gel insert. During an over-zealous disco manoeuvre, one of the chicken fillets popped out. It plopped on to the ground like a stranded jellyfish. Everyone stopped and stared at the quivering pouch at my feet. "Um – would you believe it's a stress-relieving, squeezy executive toy?" I suggested.

But in my early 30s, my Barbie fantasy became a reality. Once pregnant, my bosom developed with Polaroid speed. Suddenly my mammaries were so huge they needed their own radio transmitter so they could report back to the rest of my body on weather conditions up ahead.

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I should have taken up a career as a weathergirl – all I needed to do was turn sideways to the camera and say, "Bold front approaching".

Basically, my breasts were as big as a twin garage and every man I met wanted to double park in that particular erogenous zone.

So why wasn't I enjoying it? The trouble was that men had stopped talking to me. Oh, their mouths opened and words came out, but it was all addressed to the third button on my blouse. Suddenly my only depth was in décolletage. Eventually, I'd glance down and growl, "Hey, when the three of you are through, let me know, okay?"

Breasts do a great job of nourishing the species. A round of applause for all boobs. Let's just learn to love the ones we have and stop trying to make mountains out of molehills … and vice versa.

And maybe invent a mammogram machine that doesn't squish you flat. If blokes had to undergo "ballograms", I doubt they'd put up with having them squashed in a vice.

Forget smoking and drinking: that's the vice women want to give up.

This article appears in Sunday Life magazine within the Sun-Herald and the Sunday Age on sale October 13.