God I love saying “fat suckage.” I have no idea why. Maybe it just sounds so wrong. So wrong but so right! I seriously don’t know why I was so opposed to it in the first place. I’m over two weeks out and I totally see the difference, have zero soreness, no more bruising and most of all, that “muffin bottom” is gone. Okay, like I said before, I have a big butt and no amount of fat suckage will change that -but I’m okay with it. Have I always longed for the ass of a 12-year-old gymnast? Yes. But I’m not a 12-year-old Ukrainian girl so at a certain point I had to let that go.
There was a time in my life when a part of me needed to be changed and I couldn’t let it go. When I was a teen-ager, my breasts grew over a summer from a small B to a DD. Yes, you read that right, you are not seeing double (unless you’re drunk -which, I understand) I went from having a completely reasonable body to looking like Dolly Parton in a matter of months and I was horrified.
I hated to look in the mirror because I didn’t associate my teen-age self to the mountain of boobs I saw staring back at me. And as time wore on, I couldn’t get used to it either. Old men would walk up to me in stores and say, “nice tits.” Classmates snickered. I was petrified to wear a bathing suit and when I did, I felt like I was starring in a production of Tits on Parade.
When I was 17 I became obsessed with the idea of getting a breast reduction. But my mother, with all the best intentions told me my body was just as it should be and I should learn to accept it and she would never allow me to do something like that before I even turned 18. So I tried. I wore men’s shirts, bought minimizer bras in the women’s section of the department stores (my bras had more wiring than the Pirate’s of the Caribbean ride at Disneyland) and tried to make my chest as invisible as possible. But the idea that someday I could change this about myself was like a light at the end of the tunnel.
At 20, I had it done. I went from that 38 DD to a C. This was no easy one hour stay awake the whole time 45 minute procedure like Final Inches. This was four hours under general anesthesia, wake up with drains and pain and a four day hospital stay. But you know what? The day the bandages were removed was one of the best days of my life. As the doctor slowly unwrapped me, I could see my new form and it was absolutely perfect to me. Yes there were very angry red incisions underneath my breasts but, holy cow, they were cute! Perky! They were the type of breasts that would no longer require specialty bras. They were tits that could defiantly fit into any shirt in any store even Forever 21! I could go jogging (not that I did) or take an aerobics class (shut up it was the 80’s)without fear.
That “procedure” was twenty-five years ago but I’ve thanked my lucky stars I went for it almost every day since. Which leaves me wondering why I would have even questioned the idea of changing something else for the better especially with such little risk.
The answer is I don’t know but I’m glad I went for the this too. If you want to see my ass in person, Final Inches is doing a give-away of my new book, I’m Kind of a Big Deal: And Other Delusions of Adequacy as well as Sippy Cups Are Not for Chardonnay at in suite 2300 at the Marriot from 3:30 -6:30 on Friday afternoon at BlogHer. I there will be snacks and beverages as well as the free copies of my book plus their rock star specialist Dr. Ngo will be on hand if anyone wants to talk about their Final Inches.