It’s the oddest thing, my body is shrinking and yet I’m strangely becoming aware of my bazookas and how big they are. That may sound incredibly egotistical but for someone who once had a roll of her stomach groped by a misguided boyfriend thinking he’d connected with boob it’s a nice feeling that there is definition between stomach and tit now. The other factor in making me think I could rival Pamela/Jordan and Queen Dolly of Parton herself is the fact I am wearing the right sized bra for the first time in my life, and what a difference that makes! No longer are my boobs happily nestled under my armpits, those babies have been dragged front and centre for the world to see. Every time I wear a sweater I find myself intoning ‘I must, I must, I must increase my bust. The bigger the better, the tighter the sweater, the boys depend on us!’ which is rather ridiculous as these babies are big enough already and I am not 11 years old or the main character in a Judy Blume book. My new over the shoulder boulder holder has been a revelation, allowing me access to see my stomach and discern the difference between chest fat and tum fat (chest fat = good; tum fat = bad) however it’s not all been plain sailing for my new breasticular accessory….
As wonderful as it is to see my breasts encased in black cups adorned with pretty pink ribbon it does highlight the sad plight of Larry the left boob who is shrinking faster than Romily right boob. Poor Larry isn’t quite filling the cup properly and is giving me a paroxysm of fear that I am destined to end up like Nemo with one fin bigger than the other swimming slower than the other fish in the sea but being terribly cute at the same time. Perhaps Larry the left didn’t get the memo decreeing that he and Romily the right shrink in perfect synchronicity leaving me with a pert pair of knockers. Action may have to be taken!
‘They’ say that most women have one tit bigger than the other but what I’d like to know is who are ‘they’ and how did they get the job to go around and check as I live with two boys who would love to help! It’s probable that I have always been breastically challenged on the left however have not realised until my narcissistic tendencies went in to overdrive following surgery. Every morning (noon) and night I religiously check myself over looking for more definition, a slightly flatter stomach or the holy grail of losing weight – new bones. I nearly fell out of bed in excitement when I realised that not only could I feel my collarbone but that if I contorted my neck in the right way I could see it too! A hilarious conversation ensued with my friend the Good Doctor as I tried to convince him I’d only just been blessed with a collarbone and he tried to convince me that funnily enough I’d always had one, I’d just never been able to see it before. I felt akin to Einstein when he theorised about relativity; to Newton watching the apple fall; to Davina McCall realising that yes, she was indeed wearing a binbag on National television. It was a true Eureka moment realising that I had many more bones to unearth and announcements to make that I had just been blessed by Jeebus with a new bone previously unheard of. I may just have a future career – selling my body to medical science!
So while I have been fixated on my chest, I failed to realise that in other areas all is not well. The lovely man who sliced and diced did warn that the dreaded could happen however he didn’t mention it would come only 7 short weeks to the day since surgery but here I am, stuck in Plateau-ville! Apparently our bodies don’t like shedding weight like shit off a greasy shovel and so sometimes in a fit of pique the body rebels like a snotty teenage brat and simply stops. It’s not surprising that it happens when you consider I’ve only been fuelling myself with 500-600 cals a day but it’s still bloody unfair. The phantom ‘They’ say that whilst stuck in Plateau-ville it’s the inches that come off and not the pounds which will be interesting to witness if it’s true as it could mean exciting discovery of several new bones & also could result in a trip to the ‘Fatty Boom Batty’ clothes shop for some slightly smaller clothes. As my body shrinks my head is now finally realising quite how ginormous I was to begin with, I picked up my favourite (only) pair of jeans last night and realised that if Billy Smart ever decides he wants a circus tent made of denim he need look no further. Part of me can’t wait for the hilarious ‘after’ photos of me and say three slim friends all stood in one leg of my trousers but the other part wants to hide in shame at having been such a heifer!
On the upside, I am wearing a size 22 top today (yes back to the boobs – again!) and it’s baggy – woo hoo!