Embarrassing Moment # 3 (Smart investments)

My busty friends this blog may not be for you. For all my flat sisters you will probably understand this blog a bit better, or you may be able to sympathize with a similar experience. In a previous blog I talked about my going au naturale on top until I was 12, well the ride stops there.

Teresa was the most popular girl in school. She had long flowing blond hair that I'm sure she must have blow dried. I didn't know what a blow drier was for, except that in commercials I noticed the woman were always smiling around them, so it must have told jokes. My hair was always tangled, always had something like ice cream stuck in the ends, and was usually hanging scraggly down. I also had the angels halo, with all those little frizzies circling my head. Teresa also was athletic (I ran the mile with the kids in the wheelchairs, ok not really but my mile was like 15 minutes. Most people can speed walk it in 14), she wore make-up that went in the appropriate places on your face (see lipstick example in moment #1), but most importantly she wore a bra.

For the chunky, nerdy kids gym class is never very kind to you. I was the best target for dodge ball since I had a wider margin of error and though I might have had a chance wrestling against the pre-pubescent boys that option never came up. But the cruelest part of gym class was the locker room. The place where the cool girls showed off their barbie sized underwear and matching Paul Frank training bras. This is where moment # 3 took place.

A few month before I had noticed that my clothes were fitting a little different. I didn't really observe it was due to the fact that I was finally needing some sort of (very small) bra, I just noticed that my shirts no longer laid flat. I just added this to one more thing to be incredibly self concious about, but never took the time to draw it to my mom's attention. Every other day in the school locker room I would huddle myself in front of my locker and do this pretzel move that allowed my original shirt to cover my little olives while the PE shirt was being navigated over my shoulders. I was actually getting pretty good at it, until one day Teresa brought something to my attention.

"Um..." She said, her blonde hair in a perfect pony tail and her thin tan legs in the blue spartan PE shorts. She was looking down at me in disgust masked by pity. I on the other hand was looking up at her, half way through the pretzel changing act, like a fashion sinner begging repentence from a designer goddess.

"Um... I think it's time you get a bra."

Excuse me? In about the time it took to process her words my innocent world was crushed. First of all, why did it take the coolest girl in school to point out that my "olives" were no longer acceptable in their freedom? Second, excuse me? I had no words. As she walked away I heard a few girls snicker behind me. Yet I must admit, though my contortionist skills had been fine honed into my changing routine, they failed me at crawling into my locker. It was time to invest in a bra and leash the girls. Thanks a lot Teresa.