Last summer, I went to a party with some old high school friends in Michigan. My friend Steve, whom I hadn’t seen in several years, took one look at me, not even a hello, and said, “Nope. Those aren’t your boobs.”
And he was right. A few years ago, in what I call my drunken tattoo moment, I awoke from a much deserved, post 3 c-sections in a row tummy tuck with some new silicone appendages. I know I said I wanted them, but the reality was too much. I looked like Dolly Parton and there was no going back. (I had asked the dr to plump em up to a size C; he must have misheard me because the lady at Nordstroms said I was a G).
And so, I slung em over my shoulder like a continental soldier and went about my business. After all, I do live in Scottsdale, AZ, the fake boob capital of the world. In some parts of town, it is actually the law to have implants. Its true. Dinner conversations are filled with, so who did yours? And, did you have a lift too? It is not hush hush here. Everyone’s proudly schlepping around these plastic mounds of joy.
It wasn’t until I went on the Addams Family tour with kids on their 20s that I was reminded of the beauty of au naturale. No one had done any surgery yet, they were who they were. It was beautiful. I had forgotten how nice it was to see realness. I was jealous as I dragged around my lumps of coal and had to buy size extra large t shirts of the “girl fit” t-shirts.
I vowed when I got home to get these suckers out. “Out completely?” asked the stunned doctors here in AZ. Not smaller ones? Nope, I am an outlaw. Breaking the boobie laws. I want my old real ones back.
And so, while Craig moped around the house all week in preparation, I geared up for the big day. He would touch them as I walked by him, a sadness as if he was saying goodbye to a favorite pet we were putting down. Goodbye old friends, he said that morning, patting them one last time before I went to the surgical center.
And now, my silicones are in a jar. I am done pretending to be someone I’m not. I feel free, no longer weighted down by these giant balls of jelly. It is good to be me again.
I am happy and feel free. Many said I shouldn’t write this one , that it was private. But I say that I’m happy to share this with you all. I have nothing to hide. This blog and journey have been about my truth.
As for Craig, you can send him your condolences . He will be found clutching the jar remembering the good times and wondering what could have been.