Although I consistently make fun of my lack o' boobage, the truth is I'm quite happy with my small pubescent starter set. They're less Barbie and far more Skipper, Barbie's flat chested younger sister. By the way, does anyone else remember the Skipper doll with the boobs that grew when you twisted her arm? Anyhow, back to the matter at hand, this is about me and how happy I am that I can play golf with a swing uninterrupted by the twins. Not that I play golf. But, I could if I wanted to. I'm glad that I don't need to wear two jog bras at the same time to run comfortably. Not that I run either. Anyway, I knew I had to write about my boobs when I had two incidents with them in just the last two weeks.
(You may notice there is a theme of two in this post....)
The first occurred on a Friday night at happy hour at our pool. I wore a t-shirt I bought from a thrift store last year. "Keep it Real: Silicone Free", it says. I had some misgivings about it, but much too late after the chain of event started. So as the sun went down and it started to cool down, I changed out of my bathing suit and back into that fateful t-shirt.
|Me looking like a dork right after I scored this t-shirt|
When I rejoined my group of friends, two women commented that they loved my shirt. So, I explained how I got it at a thrift store and bought because I don't have boobs that anyone would ever accuse me of being fake. Which is precisely what I find so freakin' hilarious about wearing it.
However, right next to those women, embroiled in her own conversation, was another dear friend of mine who has breast implants. This was that whole "oh crap" misgiving feeling I had earlier when I changed into the only clothes I brought with me to the pool. Her family has a long history of breast cancer and in a preemptive, pre-Angelina Jolie mastectomy, she had them removed. I felt like a total heel. Worse than a heel, the gooey gum stuck to that heel stretching from the shoe to the sidewalk, getting ever thinner.
Maybe she didn't notice my shirt. That's what I told myself. Later, my husband disagreed and told me he thought I should address it with her directly. But that was the next morning, after the fact. After a lot of contemplation, I decided not to. I thought bringing it up out of the blue and making it a "thing" might be even worse. So I decided to not mention anything unless it came up again in casual conversation or unless I wrote a blog post about it. Whichever came first. Of course I never actually planned on writing a blog post about this.
Until...yesterday. When there was another issue involving my boobs.
|Broken clasp far left|
Of course this is my penance for insensitively wearing that t-shirt the week before. And also why I now can't make direct eye contact with some of my sons' friends.