Ginormous Breast
January 13, 2008
As a child I was freaked out by old people. I did not like their soft skin. I did not like the little bit of spit that seemed to collect in the corners of their lips. I did not care for their cloying sweetness.
During one visit to my great-grandmother’s home, she cut herself. She yelled, “Pam, get me a Band-Aid!” And I promptly ran and hid. It did not bode well for any future in a medical career.
On my 7th birthday I flew to California with my great-grandmother. She was going out to visit relatives and evidently thought I would be good company.
But I wasn’t.
Grandma Jones took me to Disneyland. So there we were, a 7-year old and a 75-year old woman with a cane. I wanted to run and she could not. It is a testament to her fortitude that she made the trip at all. I lost my autograph book inside “It’s A Small World,” I left it in the boat. And I cried.
But the most spectacular incident of all, the childhood memory that made me pray for small breasts every single day thereafter, occurred in the bathroom.
We were getting ready one morning. I did not know she was in the bathroom and so I opened the door without knocking.
Her beautiful long white hair was normally always held high on her head in a bun. I had never seen it down before. It was hanging in her face as she worked up the gravitational forces to heft her enormous left breast over her left shoulder.
The hair was shocking enough.
But as I watched this heavy hanging bosom flop its way through the air to a place behind her back, my mouth opened in horror. I prepared to scream as she patted & powdered the skin beneath this mammoth mammary.
Nothing would ever be the same!
While other pre-teens prodded their breasts to bud, I lay on the cement at the local pool, pressing mine into the concrete, hoping to stifle any possibility that mine might grow.
To some extent, I think it worked. Mine are not of the shoulder hefting variety.
It is beyond my comprehension why girls today are willing to undergo plastic surgery so that they may one day have breasts like Grandma’s.
January 13, 2008 at 7:43 pm
I too prayed for small breasts, especially after being told that sports of any kind would be out of the question.
However…..
to see them fliped over ones shoulder, that’s a whole ‘nother story.
~M
January 13, 2008 at 10:01 pm
When my father and his twin brother were about 7 years old, they used to throw rocks at the residents of a local nursing home because the boys thought they were witches casting spells on them. For them it had nothing to do with pancake-shaped boobs, rather it was the wrinkles and lack of teeth that scared them shitless.
January 14, 2008 at 9:38 am
That was not exactly the image I wanted to have starting off my week. I should have waited one more day to read this blog!
January 14, 2008 at 12:40 pm
Hey Matt,
Just one more reason to appreciate your lovely wife - lol.
January 15, 2008 at 6:57 am
Are you still afraid of old people? and “She yelled, “Pam, get me a Band-Aid!” And I promptly ran and hid. ” !!!! I almost wet my pants. You crack me up!
January 16, 2008 at 9:25 am
I remember the point in my pregnancy when my breasts touched my stomach. It was a very disturbing sensation.
Stupid gravity.
May 9, 2008 at 1:05 pm
Yikes!!
I might have big knockers, but there is no way in hell I’d ever get ‘em over my shoulder!
This post made me piss myself . . funny stuff!!
I’m so glad to get a comment about old stuff . . . I can’t figure out how to make it so people read anything other than the front page. Considering posting some of the old ones as front page articles. Whatta ya think?
May 9, 2008 at 6:26 pm
Yeah, you can post old stuff .. some of your favorites, perhaps? Or link to it.
I am incredibly dense about this stuff and can’t figure out how to make a link!