To my family who read my column. Put The Paper Down. Immediately.
I’m getting old. Older. How can I tell? Not by the wrinkles developing around my eyes, nor the greys starting in my hair but by me boobs. There’s no getting around it, I got big norks. Always have, I think I was wearing a training bra in Grade 6, you know.. those ones with the clip at the front. Mum bought me my first bras at Best and Less and I nearly died of embarrassment. Worst, she made me try them on in a public dressing room.
Apart from having a sore back pretty much since I grew the buggers, they have come in useful. I breastfed my son, and I am pretty sure half the reason my husband married me was because he is a boob man (that, and my mash potato, but that’s another story) and they make my waist look small. Recently they have started to resemble spaniels ears. When I put my bra on every morning, it’s like scooping up a bowl of soup with your hands and pouring them it into your bra. It’s not attractive let me tell you. Not Attractive. Then there is the hair. I have a bloody hair on one of them. How the hell did that happen? And why? Why did my body decide of all places to grow a hair there? And not a fine hair, this hair is like a great big bloody coat hanger hanging off me nip. What The? I didn’t even KNOW it was there until Trent and I were having special relations and he starting carrying on that he was choking on a bobby pin? It was terrible. It was This Great Horrible Wiry Hair! I plucked it out once and it was like a lightening bolt shooting through my chest. So now I shave it. I know, how humiliating, the night before Trent comes home I am in the shower shaving my nipples.
Oh the shame of it.
This may be in retaliation for me giving him curry about having a hairy bum. I remember when we were first dating, and he had the “V” (small waist and big shoulders). Ohhhh. Sigh. And those biceps. He was a walking ladyboner let me tell you. And he would wax his chest, but I thought that was a bit.. Feminine for me. I like a man to look and smell like a man (this does not mean some grooming is not required, or that they never wear deodorant) but I couldn’t be married to a hairless man with an overpowering stench of cologne. He has taken me a little too literally though, he’s a great big hairy beast now. I got to watch him when he has baths; put those arm floaties on him or the hair would weigh him down and he’d drown the poor bugger (must remember to check his life insurance).
Anyway, back to my boobs. I may get new ones yet, who knows. I will be telling them that when I am under to sort me boob wire out. I no longer wish to be referred to as “coat hanger boobs nor have my husband yell out to me (as he currently does) before we go out somewhere.. “Jess!! Don’t forget to Shave Your Nipples”!