When I was a little girl, I aspired to have ginormous boobies like my mom and my aunt Lisa.They had HUGE knockers with wine colored nipples that fascinated me.
Ahhhh...the benefit of youth...
It is safe to say that the women in my family are a bit short-changed in the breast department...regarding quantity of tissue that is.
My aunt is an astounding A cup and my mom is a ginormous AA cup...
Hey, when you're little, and have breasts in the negative dimensions, a AA can look HUGE!
...Though my Gran was a whopping B cup...but she wore pointy bras that scared me, so I was never too fascinated. Just scared.
When my mom left just before my 10th birthday, she left behind a lot of crap. One such item was a padded AA cup bra. (I have never to this day EVER seen my mom wear an actual bra, but she had them in her dresser drawer.)
I snatched it up and called it my own. I wanted a bra so bad!
I wore it to basketball practice and that was the end of that. One of the 15 evil Sweeney brats (Why can't I remember her effing first name?!?!?) snapped it, called everyone's attention to my newfound boobs and gave me a shiner. Looking back, I think maybe she had a crush on me...but I have been known to be narcissistic.
I put the bra away and I am not sure I ever wore it again. That was 1983.
In 1984 I had settled into a new-and-far-more-prissy parochial school close to my Grandpa's house.
In just that one year things started to happen...to other girls who were not me. Their boobs started growing. Their waists started narrowing. I still looked like a Skipper doll while my best friend literally had a Coke bottle body. (The Coke bottles of then, not now.) I had the Coke bottle body of today back then. Nothing. No shape, easily dented and not very tough.
In our school you were either Italian or Irish. I was both...and a bit too Irish in the boob department.
To make matters worse, my family wanted me to stay away from my best friend because she "looked" like trouble. Tits on an 11 year old? You bet.
It did not help that everyone knew she pretended to be 16 when she met boys at the mall. In retrospect, that was pretty unsafe, but try telling that to some 11 year old bad-ass Catholic girls with pin-up girl bodies...Sure. Give it a whirl.
Then there was me. The mascot. The "little sister" if you will. That's what they told their new boyfriends as way of explaining my lack of breasts. It was either that or I couldn't hang, as my titlessness would blow their cover.
Needless to say, when it came time for Summer camp, no way in hell was I being sent to the same camp as Maria Gallo. They were not having it. Too bad. We would live. They promised.
I cried.
I think I threw a tantrum but it's all a blank.
*blinks angelically*
Sooooo, away I go to an alternate, Maria-less Summer camp. BOOOOO!
One day we have a field trip to the beach. Oh JEEEEEZUS!
Me. Age 11. Flat chested. In front of boys and other "seasoned" Italian girls in a swim suit.
I thought in my head to my very juvenile one piece, tube top swim suit and broke into a panic.
The night before, I scoured my aunt's dresser looking to find one of her 2 piece swim suits and planned on sneaking that on. No luck. Where the hell did she keep them?!?!? Dammit!
Most days at camp I was dressed like a Madonna/Bananarama hybrid with lots of layers to camouflage my lack of breasts. What the hell would Madonna do?!?!?
The Material Biotch would improvise. If I don't have boobs, for the love of Luck Star I would MAKE boobs!
I set to thinking of what I could stuff in that suit that wouldn't get ruined in the water but would also look real...
Clearly this was no job for Kleenex.
I pulled open drawers like a crazy woman.
I opened my desk drawer and saw a bag of balloons.
*hears the faint sound of angels, harps and choirs in the background of young and stupid mind*
I must have tried on 5 different sets of alternately sized balloon boobies.
*Thinks of clinically insane mother at time of incident and makes the bloodline connection*
Do you have any idea how difficult it is for an 11 year old girl to measure the exact amount of water to make her own perfect water balloon breasts while rushing to not get caught and shaking with the excitement that the next day she will have BREASTS?!!??!
Do you?!?!?
*wipes hair from brow*
They were small balloons. Not very filled. They were not stretched much, so not likely to break. The only thing that made them not so much perfect was the fact that...
well...
...they were not boobs...
...and one was bright blue and the other was yellow. My bathing suit was vertical stripes of white and Heather gray.
*pauses to allow reader to get a visual in mind of colors/contrast and fully appreciate the stress of knowing as I type this what is about to happen and did in fact happen*
I wore the balloons. I had no knowledge of lighting or the effects of water on the degree of translucence on a swim suit. Again, I was 11. Science was not my bag.
I played in the water with my friends and older (13 year old) boys I hoped to impress with my womanliness.
*Thinks in head in amazement at having confidence while wearing brightly colored water balloons as breasts and having no pubes to speak of*
(Hey, I had no idea that would one day be hot!)
Well, whatever happened, someone...a girl saw the blue and yellow in my suit, but was unclear as to what the hell it was.
*Who thinks people would stuff their bathing suit with water balloons?!?!?*
Instead of just asking me, she gets a group and approaches me in the water. Her group contains cute 13 year old boys. I wanted to punch her, but we all know I am a bit of a wuss in that department...at least back then.
Eh-hem...
She was direct. She asked me. I gave her the "WhatEVER eyeroll/smirk combo" but to no love. They tormented me all day. I think I may have made a snarky comment about how they were just trying to get me to show them my boobs and tried to sound convincing to the non-believers.
In the end, I just got out of the ocean and lay on my beach towel with my sunglasses on, pretending to ignore them and trying to look cool.
I'm pretty sure I failed....I mean, I had blue and yellow latex tits!
The next day I went back to camp in my normal East Village Wannabe attire and acted like nothing happened. I could see some trying to get a look at my chest, but I was thankful for layers.
Later when the topic was brought up I would giggle with the asker/commenter and joke that "everyone knows I have the tiniest titties" and "I'm sure it was just my bathing suit squeezing my skin and making my boobs look big" and how "I am never wearing that swim suit again."
...and how could I really? I was out of blue and yellow balloons.
No comments:
Post a Comment