A Little Off the Top

Dear Boobs,

I have to get something off my chest.  There’s no easy way to say this–but it’s time for us to part ways. At times like this, people like to say, “It’s not you, it’s me.”  But, Boobs, I think it’s both of us. You really are great, I can say that now more than I ever could before, but it’s just not going to work out between us.

(Some NSFW pics after jump.)

I remember when we first met.  I was just 12 and you came into my life with a dull ache. You were two pudgy little nubs.  I followed along on my little chart from fifth grade health class as you grew up from phase one to dreaded phase three and then until you were bigger even than phase five.

tanner_scale-female

I’m sorry for how I treated you when you were still young and developing.  That I didn’t know how best to support you.  It took me forever to cave in and buy you a bra, and it was an ugly, pragmatic looking thing.

I’m sorry that as a teenager I passively aggressively mutilated you with a razor blade and india ink with an illegible tattoo homage to the Pixies.  With piercing needles this way and that.  I didn’t mean to hurt you, I was just trying to find a way for us to get along.

I’m sorry for all the times I shut you out, covered you with my hands when I looked in the mirror, tugged you this way and that to see the shape of my chest under you.

I’m sorry for being mean after I watched Breasts: A Documentary.  I know you feel like you let me down when you failed the pencil test.  It’s not your fault, really.  Any boobs would have failed. I know that now.

I’m sorry, really sorry, that I completely stopped supporting you in high school. I thought that two undershirts would be enough to keep you out of harm’s way.  I was wrong.  My high school advisor let me know that.  I know how embarrassing that must have been for you.

I’m sorry that the only time I’ve shown you real affection is when I was picturing that you belonged to someone else.

Now, don’t be like my high school boyfriend when I broke up with him because I thought I was a lesbian.  Don’t cry.  Don’t imploringly say “But we had some good times, right?”  You know we did.  We traveled the world together!  We met interesting people.  We bonded with the ones we love together.  For better or worse, I’ll always have those memories.

And you have your endearing qualities.  I’ll miss your incredible sensitivity.  I know I’ll never find that again in a chest. Leftie, I’ll never forget the one hair you liked to grow on your areola.  My first chest hair!  What a brave little guy he was, and persistent!

Now that I know it’s time for us to part ways, I can see how beautiful you two really are.  Any girl would be lucky to have you, and so many have dreamed of having a pair like you for themselves.  I wish I could give you away to a deserving girl and make that dream come true.  I’m sorry it’s not me.

I’m so sorry that in all the sternums, in all the towns, in all the world, you had to latch onto mine.

Catch you on the flip side,

Austin

 

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