My shelving unit ain't from Ikea
Okay, people. I want you to stick your lower lip out ever so slightly, like a tiny pout. That is what the "average" female ponch looks like post child rearing. Now try sticking out that bottom lip all the way down, like you're trying to touch your chin with it. Got it? Right. That's what the "average" female looks like after birthing a multiple pregnancy.
I like to call mine many things, such as:
- • deflated balloon
- • lady sporran
- • wacky sack
- • twin skin
- • or most commonly referred to as my shelf.
I remember being told that there would likely be "excess" skin after the twins were born, but I wasn't expecting there to be so much that it would give Buffalo Bill a hard-on. The doctor told me that it wasn't ever going away without cosmetic surgery either . . . as if these kids aren't expensive enough already, amirite?!
Needless to say, that's out of the question, so I've learned to accept it for the most part.
One of the most unfortunate "victims" from this formation of my custom shelf was my turtle tattoo (that I had done when I was sixteen) which has been horrifically mutilated. Just a short while ago, it just so happens that I was discussing said tattoo with JC (The Animated Woman) over a drink or two in NYC. I had tweaked her curiosity and because she's a freak (in the very best sense of the word), she wanted to see. Well, I've never been one for modesty, so I pulled down the side of my pants and lifted up my shelf (yep, right there in the bar; I'm classy like that) and she squinted in for a closer inspection, "Umm, where's the head?"
Exactly, my friend. Ex-fucking-actly.
So anyways, I have even more recently had some medical issues surrounding my shelf, or rather what was going on underneath it, but I still can't seem to get the doctor to budge on the whole "we'll spring for your tummy tuck" thing. Dammit! Although at least this time around, he is going to remove the twelve skin tags and moles that had suddenly sprung from my body like a group of pubescent boys noticing their teacher's nipples on a cold day. Boing, boing, boing!
Oh, and did I ever mention I also grew a motherfucking HORN at the end of my nose that I had to have surgically removed? Looking back, I simply cannot imagine why my husband didn't want to touch me for the better part of 18 months. Ahem.