Maybe We Should Go Back

Note: This entry is gonna be TMI for some, probably. I talk about boobs and sex. Spoiler alert.

So... who deflated my boobs? And why?

How... How... How.... Does a lifetime-C cupper become an A-cupper after having kids? What the fuck? What? Where are my boobs? What is happening right now?

Aging is so weird. All through your 20's you're like "Wahoo I'm grown! I'm an adult! I look good, I feel good, I can do what I want!" And then your 30's are like, "Wahoo I'm still looking and feeling pretty good and now I'm wiser so I can avoid doing all the stupid shit I used to do AND I can still have fun!"

And then BAM. 39. Wrinkles. Sunspots because my pale ass decided tanning booths were a GREAT idea for me! (This goes back to being stupid while you're young.) Yeah, my skin is basically see-through but SURE, throw me on that cancer bed and butter me up with tanning oil babe! And now, in addition to those two things, my boobs now resemble two empty ziplock bags that previously had stuff in them and got kinda stretched out but now the stuff is gone and the bag is still there and it's pretty useless.

Last night I was feeling horny. I'll admit it- you get horny the older you get as a woman! It's true dammit! I'd heard it all along and didn't believe it because I did not think I could get any hornier than I was in my teens, 20's and early 30's. But there's another level, guys! You can always get hornier. Remember that. Wise words from me to you. You can ALWAYS be hornier.

So my horny self was like, oh I'm gonna put on this push up bra and these cute-ass panties and go jump on my man! Which I did. Because he cannot resist me in that bra and we both know it. It's my weapon. My bow-chicka-weapon, if you will. (God that was bad.) And the sex was wonderful.

But let's talk about that bra for a sec. Never before has that bra failed me in my quest to fuck. It has been a true friend. Even I wanted to squeeze my tits when I had that bra on. But NOW? There's like a gaping chasm where my boobs used to go! It was practically falling off me! What the actual fuck?

So I'm thinking about a boob job. Yes I am. I want my C-cups back. I want my sex-bra back. I want... some semblance of who I have been up until about two years ago! Who is this old-ass stranger? I'm starting to LOOK like a teacher. Not just because I am one. No, I'm starting to look like THAT teacher- the stereotypical one with the cat-eye glasses and lipstick on her teeth who only knows how to glare. You know the one I mean. Picture "teacher" and she'll pop in at least one or two of your thoughts.

Now, hubby is on board like this is the express train to Fuck-Me-Ville and immediately started looking up prices.

"5 to 7," he says.

"Oh $500? Damn that's great! That's like a tattoo! Sign me up!"

"No. 5 grand. Minimum."

"Oh." (deflates)

So I'm stuck with these ziplock baggies for awhile, but this is on my radar. Before I hit 40, the boobs need insurance. They need it bad. And I will make it happen.