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Saturday, September 20, 2008

Let's talk about breasts. My breasts.

You know you want to talk about them. Everyone does, right? Oh, wait. That's me that wants to talk about them, because I'm the only one who cares. It's really pathetic, how much I obsess, but that's what blogs are all about, yo.

I was at my parents' house a few years ago, the day after my youngest sister's wedding. A friend of my other younger sister's was being picked up there by a friend of her mother's. But none of that is important, which is good because it wasn't very clear. Anyhow...after the guy left with my sister's friend, I asked who it was. My mother named someone who people like me (who are obsessed with their breasts) recognize instantly as one of the best boob lifter and separators in the business. His creations look natural, yet buoyant. Youthful, yet sophisticated. Just like the real thing, but better. Way, way better. I did what anyone in my situation would have. I chased him up the driveway, clutching my ever more saggy bosom, to tell him how much I admired his work. Classy.

It was during the time before my sister M's wedding that I realized how much the mighty had fallen. I spent a lot of time in dressing rooms with my sister E - who has my old boobs. It was shocking. Until I saw hers, I didn't realize how bad mine were. They were a shadow of their former selves. I started thinking about getting...gulp...some work done.

But I'm lazy. And cheap. And I hate pain. I decided to wait until five years after weaning my youngest to make my decision. I got pregnant again before the end of the five years. Pregnancy briefly gave me my rack back. That was fun. I should have taken pictures, if only to show to a surgeon. I guess I'll just have to take my sister in instead. Hope she'll be ok with that.

I think I'm a reasonable person. It's not like I want a set of these. In fact, overly aggressive breasts scare me. I just want a nice, classic matching set that looks good in clothes. I don't care about scarring. Exotic dancing is not in the picture. I just want to go from being a 32 Long back to 32 Reasonable.

I keep hoping for a fun miracle cure. I had a facial today at Pout* and Shannon used this cool electric thingy to make me look perkier. On my face. I don't know if it would work in other areas. She used little electric gloves to do my face and she told me they have a paddle for people who want the treatment on their bottoms (Rowrrr!) I don't think they do breasts, which is good because they would have to electrocute me to have any hope of it helping. Maybe there is some place that accepts skin donations, like a medical school. Extra skin is my problem. Let me know if you need some.

Anyhow...I just want to wear a cute shirt without a bra once before I die. Is that so wrong? Probably. And sometimes I feel really shallow, because I look at them and get depressed. I'm not a person who hates my body, really. I hate myself for caring so much about this one little thing - well, two little things. So which is worse - to hate myself for having ugly breasts or hate myself for changing them?

Namasté, y'all!


* Yup. Pout is doing facials now. Amazing. I left there without a stitch of makeup on and I wold have been willing to go in public. I'm going to start buying lottery tickets so I can go at least once a week. Or more. They have cool machines - kind of like time machines, because they make you look younger.


Otis said...

This really shouldn't be the first post on which I comment (I mean, I could've picked something about food or parenting) but since it is, I'll be honest.

I've never met you or seen you. You seem pretty cool, though, so I feel compelled to say, no matter your condition, I'm a guy who can stray toward the superficial from time to time. I'm vain. I'm no saint.

That said, there is no need for you to get some work done. Bodies get older. They don't define us. You seem healthy enough as it is.

That said, if I ever wash the gray out of my beard, I'll comment again and admit I'm full of it.

Libby said...

In addition to feeling your pain, I have to tell you that I nearly choked on my beverage due to laughing out loud while reading this. Funny, funny, funny writing---thank you!

Lizzie said...

You may use my breasts as a showcase for your surgeon, but I'd expect something in return. Such as, is the surgeon cute and single? Or, will you buy me a cute top to go with my rack? Will you at least buy me a fancy coffee? Yeah. I'm that easy.

LaSara FireFox Allen said...

Truly an issue of our times. What's a (slowly) aging (former) Riot Grrrl supposed to do?

Dh and I were discussing exactly this subject in bed this AM, with less humour.

It's not the boobs I currently want to get done though - the parts I obsess about are the hips, thighs and belly. Oh, to have those washboard abs back!

Anonymous said...

Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have lovd at all so Tennyson tells us. At least you had a rack to be proud of at one point in time - there are many people who have never had that feeling, myself included. That said - if you think about this ALL THE TIME then do something to make yourself feel better. If you only think about it when you have no clothes on then I wouldn't do anything.

Blog O' Beth said...

I wish I could just give you part of mine and than we'd both be happy. Mine are large AND saggy. I'd like to cut mine in half and elevate them so you can actually tell that I have a waist. I'm doing it though - I'm going to have surgery. I don't know when, I don't know how - but I'm doing it!!