i recently responded to a comment on a former post . . .
that i’m finding this little peanut blog even better than therapy.
LOL ! ! !
but . . . since i’ve never had any kind of therapy . . .
it is merely a supposition on my part.
but face it.
it’s like you tell your deepest darkest stupidest most embarrassing
secrets to a whole host of people . . .
most of whom you’ll never meet face to face.
many have become dear friends.
but the majority are strangers.
you get rid of all the secrets.
that’s always a good thing they say.
very ‘cathartic.’ that’s a therapy word i bet.
this next secret was a noisy one.
i wanted to be so special for bob.
he was so unbelievably handsome. and he was ‘older.’
you know. he was experienced in life. i was just beginning.
i never weighed over 105 pounds back then.
oh. those were the days.
how i would love to have a reverse weight problem now! LOLOL.
i wanted to be ALL WOMAN.
i wanted to . . . well . . . ahem . . .
i wanted to look more like this ~
the famous jessica rabbit
now she was all woman.
alright. i know she was a cartoon character.
we all know this little guy. yes. i said GUY. this is who i resembled.
the short pixie hair cut.
the ahem . . . nicely slim . . . ahem . . . chest.
let’s stop with the coy and cute aheming and get on with this sordid
i decided to do something about my predicament.
in the back of a magazine i found the perfect solution.
it was a contraption that was supposed to make you go from a
snivelling size B cup to a dazzling C or even D in an amazing 8 WEEKS!!!
i was that naive.
you must remember. i was 18.
today your average 18 yr old is probably smarter.
heck she might have been even back then.
but i was not she.
i was naive and ever HOPEFUL !!!!
so i mailed my check.
i awaited anxiously.
it came in a discreet little brown paper wrapped box.
it was a pink plastic clam shell
held together with a taut coiled silver spring.
here it is in all its awaited GLORY !!!!
nope. this is not mine. mine wound up in the trash.
for a very good reason. i’ll tell you in a minute.
apparently they are now a “collector’s item” a hot little number from e-bay.
every evening i would rush home from work.
fix us dinner. do the dishes.
and then i would sit down to watch a little tv.
i was trying to be nonchalant doncha know.
pretty soon i would casually make my way to the bathroom.
i would go in and lock the door.
it had to be the bathroom. the only inner door in the house with a lock.
i then would take the priceless pink boobie clam out of its hiding place
in the linen closet and begin my “exercises.”
one evening bob finally realized my elongated bathroom trips seemed
to be on a regular basis.
he asked . . .
“honey . . . is everything alright? you don’t have a problem of some kind
what was he thinking?
it mattered not to me as long as he didn’t suspect the truth.
i was committed to a nightly ritual of
pink plastic clam giant boobie enhancement exercises.
one night the darn thing developed a LOUD sound.
bob . . . “tammy what are you doing in there?”
bob is at the door. you can suddenly hear a pin drop.
“i’m fine! i just need some privacy.”
good lord. was i this ridiculous?
the answer is yes. i’m a teen age bride and i want to be beautiful.
it’s an age old woman thing. thank god most of us FINALLY outgrow it.
BOIN . . . SNAP !!!! . . . WHACKKKKK!
OUCH !!!! OWWW! OWWWWW!!!!!!
it had slipped.
i had caught the ends of my fingers of my left hand in the spring.
bob is now knocking on the door insisting on being let in.
cameras pan in for a closeup as big tears well into my eyes.
i’m crying for pete’s sake.
i know the jig is up. i’ve been discovered.
my 8 week surprise is ruined.
my fingers are turning blue.
my chest still looks like peter pan.
the camera zooms in and shows the delight in my handsome husband’s
he is trying hard not to laugh.
he knows this is serious stuff.
he takes me in his arms and says i’m his girl.
and i’m the most beautiful girl in the world.
proving once again. in the eye of the beholder.