Okay. So, I decided I wanted to look into a boob job. And I wanted to go public about it. But, before I could truly go public, I needed to run it by my family. And maybe a few close friends. Just to see the looks in their eyes when I tell them about my plans.
Here’s how it went …
Husband … There were various comments, among them … “You know, you could write about things like our fig tree in the backyard.” AND “Have you told your Dad yet?” AND “Umm … sure. Maybe when you earn enough money from your writing jobs.” For the record, I think he’s good with it now. Or at least “good” with it. Elective surgery. General anesthesia. These are things that make him squirm. He cares … or maybe just doesn’t want to be a single dad … but, either way, that’s a good thing, right?
Mother … I told her on vacation. It was an odd choice but the opportunity suddenly presented itself. And I was expecting all kinds of motherly worry and maybe even a little judgment. What I got was “I can’t believe you waited this long.” After we got through our spontaneous eruption of laughter, she mentioned that, as my mother, she’s seen my boobs … in all their post-baby glory … and understands my decision completely. (Love you, mom!) Her concern was more about my going public about it. “Are you sure you want to do that?” she asked. I figure … you can’t hide this kind of change anyway … so why not stop all the gossip and rumors and put it all out there. If you want to talk about my boob job, I want to be in the circle.
Brother … He was all in. He works in medical equipment sales and has seen all kinds of advancements in this area and has a great many doctor connections in the city. Score! And, in his infinitely asinine way of trying to rib me and make me feel awkward (it’s a sibling thing), he started texting me soft porn and suggesting different ‘sets’ I might want to look into buying. It’s a pretty hilarious thing to open up unexpectedly on my phone, especially when I have to explain it’s from my brother.
Father … He was my albatross. My husband, mother and brother all thought so and had convinced me as such. So, I worked up my nerve and invited him to lunch. Unfortunately, I had no childcare that day so I needed to select my eatery carefully so that my kids could sit separately from us without it raising any eyebrows. (We went with a ‘roll your own burrito’ joint if that detail is significant to anyone.) My dad and I sat at our own table right next to the elevated bar table where my kids sat, which was pointed directly at the wall-mounted television. Problem solved. And, after a bit of idle chit chat, I finally told him I invited him to lunch with an ulterior motive and lowered the boom. And he didn’t flinch, progressive man that he is. (My mother is now officially rolling her eyes.) He asked a few questions about whether or not the implant would be placed above or beneath the muscle and about saline in general. He was actually approaching the whole thing from a scientific point of view. Why am I surprised? The Discovery Channel is like religion to him.
Friends (just a handful!) … Of course, I checked in with several other people in my life including my lady doctor (who also happens to be a neighbor and friend) and got a resounding “Good for you!” And weighing in with half a dozen other friends earned me a few quizzical looks here and there and, of course, offered several more occasions to expose my boobs. (Really, it’s been like Mardi Gras around here.) But, in the end, no one tried to talk me out of it. Some were surprised and some not. Some still have questions for which I’ll be seeking answers and covering in future installments. All were excited to be part of the process from the beginning. And the one word that several of them used to describe what I’m doing was “brave.”
It’s funny, you know. I wasn’t the least bit nervous about any of this business until someone characterized it as brave.
Damn girlfriends.
OldDogNewTits 