Somehow, despite adoring Monty Python, Big Kid finds our amusement with Ms. Tate utterly disdainful, like nails on a chalkboard. I think Rugelah's accent is fine, especially with a tiny bit of incredulity as she repeats the word "tempura." This jocular tidbit of has little to do with the following intellectual essay, but it's my blog, so there.
In other news, Suzanne recommends that we all post pics of ourselves in bathing suits, thus contradicting the myth of the swimsuit issue. I love the idea, but since my blog is anonymous, and since my camera is broken, and since I am not as evolved as Suzanne, I plan to post a bathing suit photo that could be me.
Here I am after I had all of my organs removed, and a few select extras transplanted as breasts. In the spirit of full disclosure, the left breast is a kidney, the right a lung.
That did not work out too well for me, so the docs agreed to give me my old body back. Problem is, I pretend to be an NB, "near-B" in-between breast size. Only because I'm a little bigger than an A, and I am uncomfortable without a bra. Don't get me wrong: my breasts are excellent. They fed two babies, and they perk up quite nicely. Without the nipples, I am fairly sure that I would never have had an orgasm. Lucky me! Their size, though, cannot be replicated in photos because you cannot see them too much. Think Grace from Will & Grace in a padded bra. That's about my size.
Which leads to my post-op dilemma. My hips and thighs are a nice size, and I have a little belly where they put my uterus back in. So I'm kinda small above the waist, and then I gather heft as I go down. My weight goes up and down generally, as it will, and sometimes, due to my sensitive stomach, aka migraine/nausea and diarrhea/reflux (don't that sound sexy) I cannot eat much and I become rather thin. Other times, when I can be the swine I was meant to be, I get more hippy and my belly pooches out like everybody else's.
The point is that all of the women with nice big butts also have tits and all of the women with small tits have no hips. Apparently I am mutant. Clothes fit me, and I can get my ass through doors. But all of the women in photos lack my lovely proportions. Also, when a cyst ruptured twenty years ago, the surgeon stapled me up a bit funny so my belly sorta hangs down over my undies, as if my undies are too tight, but they're not. I say "undies," or "underwear," not "panties," because my Mom always said panties and I found it far too dainty a word, then and now. It's my underwear, goddammit. I never liked the expression "bowel movement," either, which my parents shortened to "BM." Jeez. It's shit, it's poop, or it's crap, one of my all-time fave words. Usage: the idea that women are built like pre-pubescent boys with two grapefruit breast implants is crap.
If I had my way, we'd all wear those old stylin' bathing suits. Then I wouldn't have to share my pubic hair, or the little rash after I shave it, with the rest of the world. Plus those old styles suit me - pardon the pun please. So much for being anonymous. If you see the one woman around with child-bearing hips, a belly drooping over her drawers - there's a good word, too - and small breasts, that's me. I miss my lung/kidney breasts, but the sacrifice was worth it. Now I can breathe, extra-deep.
