I turned 43 last week. Forty three. Fortythree. fortythree.furtytree.forryhree.
You know, if you say it enough times, it stops making sense.
I don’t particularly care about my age. It’s one year closer to death. Big deal.
I have a few wrinkles, more grey hair than I ever did. So what? I’ve earned every one of them. I’m all for passing the beauty torch on to the younglings that can handle the pressure. I did my turn.
But my boobs! My god, my boobs.
Now, I’ve never been a well endowed girl, and as I was a tomboy, they just got in the way. Alas, I’ve gained some weight in the past couple of years. Consequently, I’ve developed what my mother delicately refers to as a “rack”. And those things are just a pain in the ass.
Here’s my issue. Every birthday, I swear they drop an inch. It’s like they hate getting older and are moving south. Like retirees. Except south is towards my belt.
Last year at christmas, my mom and I were cuddled on the couch. She’s a rubber. You know the ones? They can’t just sit, they have to rub some part of you until the skin wears away and there is a bloody gaping hole where they’ve left the mark of their affection. The dogs like it. I don’t.
So she’s rubbing my arm, and I told her to stop. She asked me why. I said, “Mom, you’re kind of rubbing my nipple”. She jolted, howled with laughter and said “Jesus! Why is it by your elbow?”
Oh mom. I wish I knew.
A few weeks before christmas, our lovely neighbours called us at about 6 p.m. and said “We’re in our pajamas. And drinking. Come for pajama drinks.” Excuse me, but how badass is it to have folks in your life you feel so comfortable with that you can have drinks in your pajamas? PAJAMA DRINKS,PEOPLE!!!! Actually, it sounds a wee bit kinky, but these weren’t our orgy neighbours so we felt safe.
About half way through the evening, my friend Dee gave me a friendly stomach tickle. (Wait. This does sound kinky.) Anyway, it was one of those mom-love-ya grabs us mommies do, but sadly I had to tell her that what she’d thought was my side was actually my boob. I flustered the poor woman for a bit until I explained that now when I sit down, the girls tend to hover oh so gently to rest on my lap. An honest mistake.
I just don’t know why they’ve decided to become long and tubular. I thought that only happened to National Geographic tribal naked women. I’ve been so misled.
I’m already losing my navel behind them. “Where’s my navel? Oh wait, it’s right here, behind my boob. Duh.” What’s next, tucking them into my socks?
I’ve thought about getting them pierced. Not for any reason other than to slip a chain through one, lace around my neck and attach it to the other piercing. Kind of like a poor mans breast lift. Might work.
But this is my advice to all the younglings. Don’t pierce your boobs! Don’t ever add weight to something thats going to sag naturally anyway.
As for me. It might just be time to buy a really good bra I can wear all the time. Do they come in tubular sizes?