so let me post something non-heavy. My breasts, to be exact. I have come to terms with the fact that I'll never be chesty. My sister, who was a C cup by the time she was 4 or some such shit, got all the tit in the family. I tell her the boob fairy got lost and hit her room up twice. Perhaps the bad luck started early.
In a very non-pervy way, it's been sort of a family joke that I am so flat chested, I'm somewhat aerodynamic. For example, the part of the chicken always saved for me? The breasts. Awesome. Actually, that was sort of awesome, because of all of my very strange food rules and quirks. But that is perhaps a topic for another day.
The thing that really kills me about the no-boob situation is when it comes to dealing with professionals. Now I'll grant you, I'm small chested even for my small size. I'm almost an A cup. But not really. That'd be pretty fucking sweet. But I digress.
Irritation 1: Clothing designers. Because of the aforementioned lack of brestage I wear an even smaller dress size. Around a 2. It makes me so fucking crazy that dress designers at many, many stores, seem to think the average cup size for a size 2 woman is a C or a D cup. God bless the size 2 woman born with a rack like that, but I can assure you, Marc Jacobs, that it is the exception, not the rule.
Irritation 2: Medical Professionals. At a recent breast exam I actually found myself counting the number of times the gyn said the phrase "really small breasts"
GYN: It's important that you do self exams regularly, even though you have really small breasts.
Me: Yeah, I know, I'd probably SEE a lump if one should appear
GYN: No, this is serious. You have really small breasts, but even with very very small breasts like yours it is crucial to do self exams.
Me: Got it. I do. Regularly. I grope myself whenever possible. Just, you know, to make sure they're still there.
GYN: It's especially important because they're so very small that you wouldn't be able to have a mammogram. There isn't enough breast tissue there. Normally you don't see breasts that are this small unless they're on a body builder.
Me: Or a ballerina?
GYN: Are you a ballerina?
Me: No. But sometimes strangers ask me if I am, and I say yes.
GYN: Well, at least they're soft.
Me: I'm sorry?
GYN: Usually, when you see very very small breasts like these they're very hard, so it's harder to feel the lumps. Yours are quite soft, so that's good.
Me: Well, erm... thanks.
GYN: Ok, you can get dressed.
Seriously! Good thing I have a sense of humor, no?
Incident #2- Before I went on the remicade I had to have a chest x ray to make sure I didn't have TB. No problem. So, I was feeling sort of emotionally fragile at the moment, it wasn't that long after Adam died, and I'd been sick as a dog and exhausted and all that. I went to this x ray lab near the dr's office, and waited for ages, listening to "My Heart Will Go On" by Celine Dion in the waiting room, which it must be said, is not the best song at the best of times, but is really really not the best song when you're husband has just fucked off for heaven.
SO I fill out scads of paperwork, medical history, etc and I have the films taken and the tech looks at me and says that they just need to check and make sure the films came out ok before I go. So this other tech comes in and looks at the images. And looks. And looks at my chart. And then back at films. And now I'm thinking maybe something is really wrong. The tech looks at me and says:
"I'm sorry, I didn't see on your chart that you'd had a double mastectomy. When was that?"
"I didn't have a mastectomy"
"Oh. Because it isn't in your history that you did"
"That's because I didn't. I'd have remembered a double mastectomy."
"Oh right. It's just... there isn't really any breast tissue on your scan, and we generally only see that with women who've lost their breasts"
"Or women who never had any to begin with? I just have very small breasts."
"Oh. That would explain why I couldn't see any scar tissue. Wow. They're really small huh?"
"Yes. But they're very soft."
"Ok. You're all set"
So I suppose I'm lucky. And at least when I'm 60 they won't be around my ankles. Bitch. (Ok, I didn't say that last bit)
Seriously. She then suggested a really good plastic surgeon that her cousin used. Um, thanks, but no thanks. What followed was about a half hour of absolutely hysterical laughter. Couldn't stop laughing. Laughed my way out of the office, back to my car and home. I mean, seriously. These are women! What the hell?! They're small, but not disfiguring or anything!
Jeez. Ok, off to give myself a daily groping, you know... just to make sure they're still there.