I thought I was totally over the fact that my boobs are too small and lopsided. I mean, boobs are supposed to look like “jugs” or “melons” — ask any male over the age of 6. If a writer were trying to use a metaphor to describe the sad sacs on my chest, likening them to ping pong balls would be being extremely gracious. I’d be so honored. I certainly wouldn’t be like Kate Winslet or Kelly Clarkson when they tell the whole world that they’ve been airbrushed to look skinny and hot. I’d be like “Holla holla. ping pong!” Not sure is saying Holla holla is even situationally appropriate, but I like sounding urban even though I’m well aware that misshapen peanut M&Ms would provide a much more fitting metaphor.
Normally I’m okay with this. I mean somebody married me after all (but he does have large hands, so that wasn’t very smart on my part (or his)). But I digress. So my baby sister posted a picture of herself in Facebook to show off her new hair, but really it just shows off what a nice rack she has, and all it did was remind me that I must have been a total asshole in a former life to have deserved this. Oh, and did I mention her hips are like 30% the size of mine as well? I just don’t know how I got the big hips, tiny sad boobs genes and she got the big orbs, small ass genes. Not that I’m not gushing with happiness for her. I mean, she was clearly someone who befriended lepers in a former life, so I’m sure she totally deserves to have that body even though she exercises twice annually. I work hard at toning my body and being healthy – I go to the gym at least five times annually, and drink wine every night and you don’t see me running around in size 2 jeans. Its just really unfair and I’m so pissed off at my past life asshole self for creating this whole issue in the first place.
Really, the only thing that could cheer me up at this point is if Oprah came back on with a whole new season and Whitney Houston was her first guest, and they talked about how cruel this world is to flat chicks or at some point one of them said “Bitch, pleeze!”. But see, this is where I’m going to go out on a limb and maybe give Oprah some constructive criticism. Oprah only cares about stuff that happens to her. She cares about thyroid problem people, and fat people, celebrities, intelligent black girls, menopausal women who can’t orgasm with their husbands, dogs that are homeless, sexual molesters and finding your passion. And I care about all that stuff too – except maybe the thyroid people. But Oprah has never struggled with having a concave chest and frankly, I don’t think she even cares because it didn’t happen to her. She is sitting pretty with her bouncing Buddhas while me and my sad little lopsided M&Ms are crying out for help. Don’t get me wrong, Whitney’s implants could use some work, but at least you can get a good grip on them. I just think Oprah might do well to think about someone else for a change.
So right now you’re saying, “Love, stop bitching and go get yourself some silicone” and I would except up until this week, I only had one good reason, which was “I just need some semblance of boobage” which BD wasn’t buying because he’s an ass man (or so he claims) but I’m not stupid – if I had sweater stretchers, he’d be a boob man. But now I have a second reason which is really more compelling: “If I get killed and somebody removes my teeth and fingers, you will be able to identify me by the serial numbers in my breast implants and collect the life insurance money….that is, assuming you didn’t do it.” Providing he’s not offended by the second half of the statement, I think this argument is a game changer.
Don’t get me wrong – I totally feel bad that Jasmine Fiore married a psycho after knowing him for like 2 days and then he wound up killing her and stuffing her in a suitcase. That blows for her, no doubt. I mean, just because you look really slutty and marry people you don’t know in Vegas, does not mean the psycho you marry should kill you. I just want to have that on the record.
But on the bright side, I know Jasmine is looking down from heaven right now because this was probably her first “teaching moment” ever — I’m sure I’m not the only person who learned from her that breast implants are an ingenious form of dead body identification insurance. Its something every woman ought to consider for her family’s well-being, and when it comes down to it, that’s really what I’m about. Frankly it’s how I roll. Now if only Oprah would think of others beside herself and my sister would take the damn picture off Facebook. I mean, FUCK.