One of the crazy things about being in my early twenties is that I have changed so much in the last 10 years. Long before I met my fellow naughty princesses and became Cinderslut, I was just a skinny, insecure teenager with a lot of fears and not a whole lot of dreams. There was really only one thing 13-year-old me wanted:
BOOBS.
I had other physical imperfections I might have obsessed about… the frizzy hair, the braces, the freckles, the acne, the pasty white skin…but I zeroed in on boobs—the only missing part of me I thought of as a right, not a privilege. I knew I would never be tan or strikingly beautiful, but doesn’t every girl deserve some ta-tas?
The term, “late-bloomer,” was a curse word to my ears, an agonizing euphemism for “FLAT-CHESTED, SEXLESS NON-MENSTRUATOR,” which was how I assumed those buxom 8th grade popular girls referred to me behind my back.
And so, every night, I prayed. I knew it would take a miracle to fill out the padded bras I’d taken to wearing, and I happened to know God was the man for the job. Fledgling Christian that I was, I also knew I had to keep on praying; these things don’t just happen over night, you know. But still, I mean, this is God we’re talking about. If he can turn water into wine, he could turn a AA into a C cup, even overnight if he wanted to. So I prayed, and it always went something like this:
Are you there God? It’s me, Cinderslut.
Thanks for being so awesome and everything. But about those boobs.
Just the usual request…can I have some? I know you know all the hairs on my head and stuff like that, so you probably also know exactly when I’ll morph out of this awkward middle-school body.
But I’d just like to request a rush order on those boobs. Any time is great, whenever it’s convenient for you. But just so you know, picture day is coming up.
Thanks in advance, Lord.
And P.S., a boyfriend would be pretty nice too.
Well, I still believe that God answers prayer, because those boobs did eventually arrive, a couple months before high school graduation.
Of course my life and my body have changed in lots of other ways since then (don’t even get me started on hips), but I’d say having boobs is still something I’m thankful for every day. They certainly came in handy during Operation Hook a Husband, anyway.
But I still look in the mirror sometimes and think, “Damn, I have boobs! Cool!” And that’s the TSC: being a bonafide adult one moment and the next staring at myself in the mirror, remembering exactly how it felt to be 13 going on Twenty-Something.
I sort of had the opposite experience– I remember feeling so awkward about beginning to get breasts in Middle School. I felt really self-conscious about them; I am pretty sure I would have gotten rid of them if I could have.