Today for the first time ever I am going to give you a snippet of my book Good Girl Chronicles. I worked on this chapter with a writing group at The Muse in Norfolk, Virginia. They laughed so I am hoping you will too. I have been asked to try a new bra line and blog about it so before I do that I wanted to share with you the struggle I've had with my boobs since I was a teen when I prayed for big boobs. Enjoy!
Chapter Two of Good Girl Chronicles
The Boob Prayer
Mom first taught me how to pray when I was about six. Before bed-time she would tell me to put my little hands together like I was forming a teepee, and close my eyes. I remember thinking it was a game to see who could keep their eyes closed the longest. I would peek at my mom from one half opened eye. Her eyes were closed tight, head bowed, and lips moving. My mom never lost this game. She was focused in this moment, and I realized this prayer thing was serious. She told me that a big God in the sky loved me, and sent His son to save me. I wasn’t sure why I needed saving, but I liked the idea that this God figure was willing to do that for me. “When you pray,” my mother would say, “You thank God for His love, His salvation, and you can also ask Him for help.”
“What kind of help?” I asked.
Mom said I could ask for anything, big or small, God would hear my prayers and with His power He can give me what I asked for if it’s in His will.
At the time God seemed more like a magical Genie than a spiritual figure, and I intended on cashing in on some prayers. I decided to test this prayer theory in a big way, and God came through in a way I never expected.
I desperately wanted boobs. I wanted to wear tight shirts, and have guys drool over me like, Jessica Rabbit. Boobs were the answer. I had hit the point in life when boys mattered, therefore, looks mattered. From everything I saw on television the key to winning a guy was a huge set of knockers.
One morning, I stood in front of the bathroom mirror sticking out my chest and turning side to side. I lifted up my tank top, exposing my Raisnette breasts. This was pathetic. I was flat, sad, and frustrated. My boobs were barely noticeable in my pink tank top, and nothing seemed to be helping. I sucked in my gut to see if it would push out the small lady lumps on my chest. Just as I began to reach for some Scott tissue paper to stuff in my training bra, the bathroom door swung open. It was my mother, and she laughed at the sight of me. Of course she could laugh. My mother has always had an ample triple D set of boobs that I saw plenty of men ogle over.
“Mom, I want boobs. All the girls are getting boobs and talking about bras, and stuff from Victoria’s Secret. I want boobs,” I said.
“Trust me, honey they will come in due time,” mom said trying to conceal her laughter.
I needed boobs. I was stuck in this awkward stage and I wanted to bust out into full on womanhood. I saw how troublesome hooters could be. My mom was always complaining of back pain from her huge knockers. After P.E. busty girls in the locker room would struggle to put on large ugly grandma bras. One girl even wore two bras to support her large breasts. I didn’t care; I wanted boobs, so I did what any sensible Christian good girl would do. I got down on my knees and started praying for tatas.
After a few weeks of kneeling, forming teepee hands, and pleading with God for breast. I got frustrated. In four weeks, my lady lumps had not grown any bigger. Mom reminded me that God doesn’t answer all prayers, and sometimes they go unanswered for our own good. But, I was miserable. Does God wants me to be a sad, flat chested girl my whole life? This prayer thing had to work so I started to pray harder and more frequently.
Before I knew it the boob blessing washed over me like a rain shower. In what seemed like weeks my lady lumps had sprouted out to big mounds on my chest. Every week I could not wait to try on different shirts, and outfits to see how they accentuated my bust. The only problem was once the blessing started it didn’t stop. It was as if all my prayers correlated to my bra size. It wasn’t long before I was a double D in middle school. As mom would always say, “Be careful what you wish for.”
At first it was fun shopping for new bras in different colors and designs. I felt like a real adult going through the women’s section with my mother. She showed me how to properly put on the bras and how to secure them.
Did I mention that the boys were starting to take notice? I could feel their eyes on me in the hallways watching my huge knockers bounce on my chest.
They would whisper in the hallway, “Lauren got big ole titties.”
|High School Me (FML that vest was fro m Fashion Cents)|