Keeping abreast of the busts

I’m not sure why, but for some reason bust size has been front and center in my recent conversations. Let’s explore further, shall we?

It all started a few days ago when I learned a friend of a friend’s brother’s ex-roommate’s wife had successfully undergone breast augmentation. I myself have considered the surgery, so I’m always curious as to the cost and recovery and overall outcome of anyone who has actually had the nerve to go through with it. The gal in question had a wonderful experience; she had little to no down time (important when one has children and/or a job) and obviously saw immediate, big results. You go, girl!

Several days later, I found myself not watching the Colts game but rather discussing the pros and cons of plastic surgery with the two women next to me. We focused mainly on the brazier region, though we tossed in tummy tucks for good measure. (And before you accuse me of hating on Pagano, know that any woman who has borne children has considered at least for a moment “fixing” the often-times disastrous physical aftermath of pregnancy and nursing, and when given a choice between “first and ten” and “liposuction,” she’s going to opt for the lipo.)  Anyhoo, turns out both of them have also thought about some extra padding up top. Money is the biggest factor holding them back, especially when they think about all the better uses of a few extra grand, assuming they could even save the cash. Amen, sisters. Silicone is ex-PEN-sive!

The boob trilogy ended with my annual mammogram yesterday, and for some reason, the procedure was much “twistier” and “tuggier” than I remember. My technician was lovely, but the squashing was far more pronounced this time. I had to wonder if my small size was the cause. Surely having more to work with would make the scanning easier? Of course, more surface area would mean more cold steel pressed up against me. Um, I’ll pass. Regardless, I was less tolerant of the screening and came home feeling slightly man-handled. At least buy a girl a drink first!

So the chest area has been at the forefront of my life lately. Typically this only happens during swimsuit season when I see two of my sisters looking fabulous thanks to their own surgical C-cup plunges. What can it all mean? Is it just more acceptable and common to talk about plastic surgery these days, or is someone trying to tell me I should reconsider a little “enhancement” myself?  I don’t know, but I’ll be sure to keep you abreast of the situation. (I’ve been trying to work that line in since this article began!) Peace out.

Danielle Wilson

I was born in Louisville, Kentucky, the same year Dick Nixon was elected. Along with my twin sister and three younger sisters, I attended Catholic schools for thirteen years. (Holy Mother, pray for me.) I spent two years as a cadet at the United States Air Force Academy in Colorado until I wised up and transferred to a more normal school, Indiana University, where I received a B.A. in history and a teaching license just for funsies. In 2001, I officially entered the ranks of stay-at-home moms to care for my two-year old son and newborn twins. I have mentally blocked all of 2002 and most of 2003. In 2004, I received a Master’s degree in U.S. History from I.U.P.U.I. and a fourth child from my should-have-had-that-vasectomy-sooner husband. From 2005 until mid-2010, I played Super Mom in the yet-to-be released indie film "Provide Daycare for Your Sister-in-Law's Children Because You Don't Have Enough to Do Already." I returned to teaching this fall at an undisclosed Indianapolis school where thankfully very few parents know who I am. I am considering developing a bad habit.

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