March 1, 2010 (part two...or...two soon-to-be-amazing "parts" ;)
I cannot tell a lie...I love big "foobies" (fake boobies).
I have always been a huge admirer of them...and working for Hooters, I saw (and poked at) more than my fair share. There were hard ones, squishy ones and super perky ones...far apart ones, close together ones and dangly ones. There were foobs the size of softballs, cantaloupes, soccer balls, watermelons and giant blow up beach balls. And then there were those masterpieces of faux excellence...the lovely, realistic, silicone, under-the-muscle, teardrop style breast perfections that had become my most favorite of the implant varieties.
I was fondly thinking back to those days of wondrous ogling...all of us girls, clad in orange Dolphin short shorts that were stretched tightly over our tan, spandex pantyhose...standing there stuffed up to our chins with foam and jelly inserts (or tube socks)...taped, hoisted, twisted and tied so tight we couldn't breathe. Our mouths agape after tripping over our squeaky white tennis shoes in a frenzied stampede to the ladies room so that we could stare...and poke...in envious, drooling amazement each time a friend wanted to show off her "new girls". I tell ya, nothing in this world filled out a string bikini or a strappy little sun dress (or a Hooters tank top) better than a perfect pair of store bought tatas. So buoyant and gravity defying...oh to be forever free of push up pads and duct tape! The girls who had the breast implants looked so amazing to me. The only reasons I hadn't pleasured my ego with having a luscious pair of my own was
(1) the hefty price tag, and
(2) I was terrified of going under the knife.
But since I ain't got no choice in the matter now...and insurance is picking up the tab...what the Hell...I wanna go BIG!
So here we are in the plastic surgeon's office. It's 9:30 am...my husband and I are flipping through picture books of boobs, foobs, and more boobs. I have decided that I would like a sexy pair of full C's or small D's.
Currently I am the unhappy owner of a deflating set of psycho-killer "B's".
I was feeling kind of old when Dr. Plastic walked in to the room. He's younger than me...but he's a very qualified perfectionist. And, I think my husband felt a bit uncomfortable as the doctor started "fondling" my boobs in front of him. He pushed them to and fro...nudging them around...tossing them about...then finally lifting them upward. When he was finished, they flopped back down to their saggy little spots...
somehow appearing to have fallen just a little bit closer to my belly button.
(damn things...your days are numbered bitches).
The surgeon scooted back on his rolling doctor chair and stared at my boobs for an uncomfortable moment...and, acknowledging that I was bottom heavy...
(gee thanks. I know)
said that I could easily sport a fabulous set of double "D's" without looking disproportionate.
I stood there half naked and beaming...in front of the bright blue backdrop on the exam room wall. The doctor was snapping away...collecting shots of my "before's" that he will eventually add to his huge photo collection.
I honestly couldn't wait! I could not wait to get these vicious little tramps cut off of me.
March 11th can't come soon enough!
