I tried my new breasts out for size at work last week. For my marketing friends, it wasn’t quite a focus group, because I didn’t really pull people together in a room (with M&M’s behind the one way mirror) to discuss them. Instead, I just plunged in to work, with fitted sweaters and tailored blazers to see the reaction.
First, the reaction from those not in my inner circle:
“how are you feeling?” (they look down). I say, “I’m fine; I’m getting stronger every day”. what I mean to say, since they are no longer looking anywhere near my eyes, “they’re fine; they’re a little smaller, a little higher, but I feel like they are more in proportion to my frame; I think I’m going to like them this way.”
Second, for close women friends, I model, I turn, I admit that I’m wearing my 14 year daughter’s bra and that I haven’t gone without underwire since Reagan was president”. They encourage me; they tell me I look proportionate. I’ve only had one “fill” with the plastic surgeon, which seems like a cop out, and I almost feel guilty for not going back 2 — 3 times more. We sit and try to remember what, if any, were the benefits to a 46 year old woman having big breasts. We talk about the thousands of dollars I used to spend in minimizer bras and infrastructure to go for a quick 40 minute run. We remember all the black tie dresses I didn’t buy for the gala, because I couldn’t figure out how to wear those dresses without a bra. We bemoan all the cute little yoga tops that I never got to wear.
so, it’s decided… the filling is done. I’m sticking with my new regular breasts.. leaving the super sized ones as just a distant memory.
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