Once upon a time, my breasts were reliable companions. They obeyed orders, remained steadfastly in place, and required minimal oversight. In one word, they were dependable. However, after nursing five children, I began to notice a rebellion brewing. A little chaos took hold, and my once perky bosom started to sag to levels I simply can’t accept. Now, they can be rolled up like a burrito, and the daily dressing ritual resembles stuffing a Thanksgiving turkey. These days, they are never “at attention” and can easily point in any direction imaginable. I now find myself checking for what I call “lazy boob syndrome” in the mirror before heading out. Sometimes, it’s hard to know where to look, as they seem to have developed a will of their own.
Yet, this little insurrection pales in comparison to the ultimate act of breast betrayal I experienced recently.
I have a penchant for Groupons. I tend to buy them, forget about them, and then scramble to redeem them just before they expire. As luck would have it, I purchased a Groupon for a massage for my birthday. Naturally, I forgot to book an appointment until the last minute, and the only available therapist was, let’s say, a “mansuesse.” I used to enjoy these appointments back in my pre-kid days; they have strong hands and usually keep quiet for an hour. But now, I felt a sense of dread about what this poor man was about to encounter: “Five kids… the old grey mare ain’t what she used to be.” Nevertheless, I bravely booked my last-minute appointment, hoping for the best.
At first, everything was going smoothly. My mansuesse asked what I wanted, and then silence enveloped the room for the next hour. Pure bliss! I was finally unwinding, lying on my back while he worked on my neck and shoulders, when disaster struck. As he lifted my arm to massage my shoulders, my breast, which had been discreetly tucked under the covers, decided it was time for a “Hail Mary” and leapt into the open.
Once, my old boobs would have never moved from their assigned positions. But not today. I could practically hear George Michael’s “Freedom” playing in the background as my rebellious breasts clamored for attention. I lay there, frozen in time, contemplating my next move. The best course of action seemed to be complete denial. “If I close my eyes and pretend it’s not happening, maybe it doesn’t count,” I rationalized.
Of course, this was absurd. We’re not talking about little ‘A’ cups here; we’re discussing post-five-babies ‘DD’ cups. It’s like a giant bowl of Jello Jigglers crashing onto the kitchen counter; impossible to ignore! But still, I kept telling myself to breathe. And in that moment, I cursed my defiant breasts and swore off massages forever.
It took mere seconds for my tactful mansuesse to lower my arm and discreetly pull the blanket back up, almost to my neck. I could feel my breasts sighing in relief as they were returned to captivity. I’m convinced that this rebellious display left a lasting impression on my poor mansuesse. Yet, when my hour was up, and I had restored my modesty, I stepped out of the room only to be greeted with a glass of water and an unexpected question: “Would you like to book your next appointment?”
The shock was evident on my face. I cursed my rebellious breasts once more, steeled myself, and booked another massage… right after leaving a hefty sympathy tip.
This experience taught me to always expect the unexpected when it comes to my breasts. Who knows where they might pop out next? I’ve resolved to continue visiting the same therapist; after all, there’s nothing left to lose. I can’t help but stifle a giggle whenever he pulls the sheets up a little higher. Well played, defiant breasts. Well played, indeed.
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Summary:
In this humorous reflection, Jamie recalls the rebellious journey of her breasts after nursing five children. From a reliable pair to an anarchic duo, her experiences during a massage reveal the hilarity and unexpected moments of motherhood. With a newfound appreciation for the unpredictability of her body, she learns to embrace the humor in every situation.
Keyphrase: Old breasts humor
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