When I was 12, a friend said I’d get titties in the springtime. I did. Sort of. I got A’s. Wasn’t bad actually. Had returning customers. (No. I wasn’t a prostitute. Maybe I should have been. You know, charged money?) But if my breasts were gonna be small I’d have a tight body I reasoned. I exercised stringently and smoked cigarettes — crack diets didn’t come out ‘til later. The payoff was being skinny, which wasn’t always good enough.
I told my dad I was getting implants. He said I needed to go explore, be around different types of people – I like to think he meant I needed to be around classy, arty people who were too deep, too brilliant to focus on titties — haha yeah, that’s what he meant — and my friend said smaller breasts are aristocratic; and my other friend said, Yeah, yeah, I like your titties like that – ah shhhhit yeah! And as I’ve said before, if you have smaller ones all the energy is focused, you know, down there.
So at times I wasn’t bothered, though I wondered what it would be like to have big ones. Summer would come and I saw how big women’s breasts were – wow – this is where mine went – these bitches got my portion! I’d go in and out of feeling inadequate. I regretted not being able to ‘have sex with my breasts’ or not being able to slap somebody silly with my titties. Then it would be okay again because I was a waifish nymph, or a nymphish waif, or a nymph-waif-pirate drunk.
Now that I’ll be 50, I’m more relaxed. I spent years going in and out of being skinny and nearly sick because of it, and obsessively weighing myself, because I valued myself that way. It all came from being flat-chested. I still exercise regularly, but it started out as an obsession having more to do with vanity than fitness. I gained weight here and there, freaked out, and went on a holistic diet. I thought of becoming a vegan not for health reasons, but because I thought it would keep me skinny.
Now I have fibroids that cause a slight protrusion in my abdomen. Menopause, which is soon, may shrink them. I don’t want surgery because I’m asymptomatic. Along with running and working out regularly, I do fifty sit-ups at least three times a week. My stomach was flat until a couple of years ago. Can’t I have anything? I feel like all my effort is futile at times, just as I do with my other efforts that yield minimal results. Are my biorhythms off? Did I kill somebody in a past life?
No, I just need to find my worth in areas that don’t require external approval. Who I am is not any certification, degree, award, Pulitzer Prize, or drooling admiration. Unfortunately I didn’t get that until now.