Monday, March 16, 2015
The Truth About Boobs
My 11-year-old granddaughter hates to go to sleep. She says she has nightmares. She's been this way since she was a toddler and over the years I've grown accustomed to having last-ditch conversations aimed at keeping her out of bed just a few more minutes. Here's last night's entry:
"What are you wearing?" she asks, coming into the computer room where I'm trying to finish up some paperwork.
"Pajamas. It's what people wear to bed when they don't forget to pack them." I raise my eyebrows to make a point, but she's staring at my chest.
"What are you looking at?" I ask.
"Why are your boobs so big?"
"Because I'm busty and curvaceous. Also, carrying an extra pound or two."
She frowns judiciously. "But why are they so low?"
I snort out a laugh. "Gravity. That's what happens when you get old."
"Eww." Her face is a mask of disgust.
"And the older you get," I go on, "the worse it is. On some women, they hang there like sacks." I cup my hands at waist level to give her the idea. By now, I'm cackling like a hyena. She is totally and utterly horrified. "And it will happen to you, too. This," I gesture toward my perdition-bound breasts, "is your future."
And she thought she had nightmares before.
(Image courtesy of Dream Designs at freedigitaldownloads.net)