A Letter to Bess and Gretchen

THURSDAY, OCTOBER 27, 2011 9:10 PM, EDT

A Letter to Bess and Gretchen

Dear Bess and Gretchen,

It is with mixed emotions that I say goodbye. I have known you for 17 years. Before that, you were a distant dream. 

Before that I was standing in front of the mirror in the bathroom of a ballet studio stuffing shoulder pads into my leotard. I danced in them for about 10 minutes before I got self-conscious about the velcro pieces that held them into the shirt they belonged in. Those velcro pieces were making little rectangles on the bust of my leotard, and it just wasn't natural to have rectangular nipples. I returned to the bathroom and removed them, too young to realize that people would notice both the immediate growth and the immediate deflation of my flat chest. That was theonly time I every stuffed my "bra." 

And then there you were...this amazing fascination of the boys in my class. I was no longer Titless Tina Tatum, but someone of interest. All of a sudden I was interested in a bikini...it was orange and yellow, and I wore it on our 9th grade field trip to Six Flags Over Georgia (under my clothes, of course, for the water rides). Alan Bryant loved that bikini, and I had a thing for Alan Bryant. He sat next to me on the bus on the way home. While other people slept, Alan was the first boy to ever meet you. Oddly enough, it was another 6 months from that school field trip to Six Flags in the 9th grade that I had my first kiss (I felt like a big tramp for letting a boy touch my boobs, so I stayed away form boys altogether for a while). Yep, my first kiss was in the Summer after the 9th grade, and it was late in the Summer. Two months later I met the boy who eventually dubbed you Bess and Gretchen...though I'm not quite sure I remember how the names came about, I know well enough that he probably wasn't giving you names while you were dressed. So I will refrain from trying too hard to remember so as not to humiliate my Mama or Nathan any more than I already have).

You have served a great purpose. You have fed two children with liquid gold. We have all laughed through two nursing periods about how healthily fat you made my children...and so quickly at that. You have allowed children to rest upon you in comfort when they were sick. You have brought me great joy in that way.

And you've been fun. When it was time to go out, you were always willing to be the center of attention. You've seen New Orleans more times than I can count, but New Orleans has NEVER seen you, a peer pressure that I have never succumbed to. But I was never at a loss for beads when I returned to my hotel! And we got some good ones! 

You've been the butt of jokes for years. From now on, when I tell Lil' Sis Jayme that Dolly Parton called because she wants her bra back, she can no longer say, "Then give it to her!" And when I pass the Boobie Bungalow while driving from Kentucky to Alabama, and I call Jayme to say, "Boobie Bungalow called, they want their boobs back." She can't say, "Them give 'em to them...they're causing you nothing but trouble anyway!" I will miss that joke. It never got old.

You have been difficult to hide at times. Job interviews, for instance, are always difficult. I spend a lot of time trying to achieve a demure look during an interview process, careful not to give a glimpse of you. Females in business have a hard enough time getting ahead (oh, yes, even now) without having to worry about a little distracting cleavage getting in the way. Nobody takes a large breasted woman in business seriously until she proves herself worthy...and that can take years more than a male counterpart.

You make yourselves comfortable in a cold room. That's a pretty annoying characteristic if I can be blatantly honest. There have been many a day when I wanted to cover you with a Band-Aid like we did for ballet performances. But again, rectangular nipples are so hard to explain to the general public. 

You grew old. You lost elasticity (or "perkiness," if you will), but I suppose we all do that in our own way. You grew sad, and straight to the floor. I'm not going to lie - this was disappointing. I mean, it wasn't too long ago that a classmate in Radiography school asked me who my plastic surgeon was. That is a big compliment for a woman with large, natural breasts. And then there were children...A wise woman once told me that one day I would be able to roll you up like pancakes and stick you into a bra. Pretty annoying truth.

And yet, we have shared such beautiful memories. And I will be sad to see you go. You are a part of me. Always have been. What will I do without you? Where will my children rest their snuggly heads when they are sick? What will be my "best asset" when I'm out with my girlfriends? What will I do with all of those expensive undergarments?!  What kind of collateral will I use in a bet? Will I laugh when someone makes an inappropriate comment about breastases (the way that my Aunt Laslie used to say it)? Will I be able to unselfishly find delight in my sister's ability to breastfeed her child? Will I look fat after you are gone? Well, seriously! Think about how big my ass is going to look!

 

Whatever life brings me in the upcoming years, you have no place there. Please know Bess and Gretchen that it isn't me, it's you (no typo here, I didn't mean that the other way around...it's really you). I begged God for you, but you are defective. In my world, there are two things you don't mess with - people's children and people's money. And you have messed with both. So you must go. I hope that out of curiosity, you have kept this stupid cancer to yourselves, and that you have not let it invade any other part of me. God has big plans for me, but you have served your purpose.

Thank you for all that you have done here, but now it's time to go. Just know that you will be missed...probably by many! You never know how many people you've affected in your lifetime!

Love always,

Bean