Postcards to my breasts
Where are you? I mean, I have zits on my forehead that are bigger than you. All the other girls in my class are going bra shopping with their mothers. Is it even possible to get bras in negative sizes? I'd Google it but the Internet isn't even invented yet.
No, really. Where the fuck are you? There are plenty of guys here at university who would love to have a conversation with you...if you'd bothered to turn up, that is. I'm having to do other stuff like, uh, develop a personality and teach myself how to tie cherry stalks into the shape of a swan with only my tongue. Nobody ever talks to me at parties and it's ALL YOUR FAULT and NOTHING WHATSOEVER to do with the fact I'm too busy trying to tie cherry stalks into the shape of a swan with only my tongue to be able to say anything.
Well, hello! Of course your timing is impeccable. You've basically shown up just as I'm about to enter seven straight years of back-to-back pregnancy and breastfeeding and I'm only ever going to be able to showcase you in a breast milk-stained ‘Windows 95' t-shirt that I got as a giveaway circa 1998. I mean, what's that shit about?
Also, my ankles have joined forces with my calves and seem to be in direct competition with you. Just sayin'.
Um, where the hell do you think you're going? I thought you were going to wait around for me but noooo, you're rapidly heading south and now putting on a bra is like stuffing a sleeping bag into its cover. On the upside, I'll soon be able to tie you in a knot shape like a swan and if that's not a conversation opener at parties, I don't know what is.
Look, if you see them before I do, tell my knees I say hi.
The NDM is donating her fee for this post to the Cancer Council Australia.