I just started following Tova Darling's Blog, and she has this weekly topic going called Totally Awkward Tuesdays. If you didn't get that by my post title then you are SO fired!
Here's my first crack at it! Enjoy!
Remember that book called "Are you there God, It's me Margaret!"?
No? Well, you must be a guy then because most women my age or thereabouts will remember reading this Judy Blume masterpiece, but if you still don't know what I'm talking about let me give you a VERY brief synopsis: The book is about a girl going thru puberty and much to her dissapointment...her little girly bags are somewhat delayed in transit (if you know what I mean).
When my friends and I read that book, I was about 10 years old and whilst my little girl friends could totally relate to the character, I had the complete opposite problem. I, much to MY dissapointment, had developed early. Really, really early. If that wasn't bad enough, I didn't stop developing until I was 18.
It sucked monkey balls!
My mother who witnessed all the awkwardness thought she'd be helpful one day by telling me a story about my aunt. Auntie N, she said, had the same problem when she was younger and she was so ashamed and embarassed about her condition that she even went so far as to tie her lady muffins down with a scarf everyday to go to school. I'm sure in my mother's convuluted way of thinking she meant to tell that story as a way of saying "be proud of what you have" but my little brain took it as "hint hint hint! here's what you can do!"
So the next day...gym day at school...I stole a bunch of my brother's sports bindings and tied myself up with it. I used a few old safety pins from my grandmother's sewing kit to "securely" fasten them and off I went. Gym class came and I locked myself up in a bathroom stall so I could change without any witness. Everything was fine and dandy till we all lined up to play basketball. Apparently the up and down motion of the arms was too much for the poor little safety pins to handle and eventually one worked itself open and started jabbing me repeatedly in the side. When we were finally allowed to go back into the locker rooms, I ran ahead of the pack and in my haste to stop the bleeding that I was sure must have been happening, I completely forgot about the miles of tan elastic I had wrapped myself in and whipped off my shirt in front of 20 mean, snide, snivelling, stuck up, jealous little wanktards...I mean -->girls.
After the laugher (theirs, definitely not mine) had subsided, I finished changing and left. The next day at school I found out that some of the girls (I don't know who...but if I ever find out...VENGENCE!) had spread rumors about me and how I was "recovering from a boob job and was all bandaged up" in gym. For the rest of the year I was faced with the dilemma of either stop binding myself which would make them think that I definitely had the procedure done, or keep binding myself which would make them think that I definitely had the procedure done.