Is That a Pencil in Your Pocket?

Body image issues…don’t we all have them to some degree or another?  Cory complained most of her adolescence about being too flat-chested, which made me to roll my eyes, and inform her she did not know of flat-chested.  That girl had more going on, even being a late bloomer, than I did until my first pregnancy.  I had to endure sixteen hours of labor to earn any rack to speak of.

She was absolutely delighted to discover that a side effect of one of her meds was the sudden and speedy growth of breast tissue.  Of all the side effects she endured, this was the only one that brought her pure joy, and a triumphant smile when she looked in the mirror.  We renamed Risperdal...Breastperdal... and celebrated by going bra-shopping, one of her all favorite pastimes, as you may have already read about.

Well, prior to Breastperdal, I sat Cory down and told her the tragic story of a two seventh grade girls and a scoliosis check.  She had to know that things could be much, much worse.  This is what I told her:

When I was in seventh grade, I was a gawky, gangly, malnourished looking type, all braces, and carefully cultivated poufy hair.  Gym was a horror to me for two reasons.  First of all, I had no athletic ability whatsoever, and was terrified of flying objects.  Seriously, volleyball gave me diarrhea.  Secondly was the grade-dependent change out.  We had to take off our clothes in front of other people or flunk the class.  Dear God.

While every other girl in my grade was stripping confidently, breasts flopping about like there no tomorrow, I perfected the strategy of changing out a full outfit without baring a single milky white inch of my body.

That left only the shower room, which frankly I blocked out memories of, like I imagine most long time inmates of prison do after a while.  Morified, I would wait until almost everyone else was done, and make a mad dash for it.

It wasn’t long before I realized that besides one other emaciated girl we’ll call Robin, I was the only girl that didn’t wear a bra.  And in all honesty, I didn’t need one.  This didn’t mean I wasn’t painfully aware that I should need one, and desperately begged the boob fairy to bestow something on my seventy pound frame.  I mean for the love of God, I was suffering here.

I will never forget sitting in English class, in seventh grade, across from a cute, popular boy.  He never spoke to me unless it was to borrow a pen or ask what page we were on, but the scenery was still nice.  On one particular day, I was wearing a new mint green sweatshirt covered with koala bears.  Before you judge, let me stop you right there to say that my mother controlled my wardrobe at that point in my life, and mint was actually a very “in” color at that moment.  Well, that koala sweatshirt caught cute boy’s eye, all right.  He complimented me, which made my face burn with a mixture of pleasure and embarrassment.  He then asked me if I wanted to know which bear he liked the best.  Shyly, I shook my head yes. 

Cute boy took his pencil and placed it over the only bear on my shirt that held a red heart, and also happened to be located directly over my left nipple.  He took that pencil and defted maneuvered it to purposely- I’m not kidding- tweak my nipple.  As he grinned like a fool, I sat there, mortified, trying to figure out just what in the hell had happened here.  Was he interested in my nipples?  Was he making fun of me?  Was this what flirting had become, and I just wasn’t up to speed with the bra-wearing crowd?  Or worse, had I been molested in broad daylight in my English class surrounded by my classmates and I didn’t even know it?  Was there some type of a hotline I should call?

But, back to the scoliosis check.  One memorable day, all the seventh grade girls were herded into the girls’ locker room, and directed to take their tops off.  One by one, we were called into the phys ed coach’s office to be eyed up by the nurse.  A note would then be sent to our parents to them know the health status of our spine.

Look, I know a healthy spine is important.  Vertebrae matter.  My point is that the adults in charge here just didn’t think this little exercise through.  How would they like to all be trooped into the faculty lounge and asked to strip from the waist up in front of their peers?

As the other girls giggled, and compared bra design, Robin and I met each other eyes with gazes of pure terror.  I don’t know about Robin, but I had swallowed my pride, and went to my mom, asking for a bra.  She looked down at the flat plane of my chest, and just laughed.  Mom has always been a frugal soul.  Why would she pay upwards of ten dollars to hold up items that did not yet exist?

That is how it came to be that Robin and I were forced to take our tops off in a crowded girls’ locker room, revealing chests as innocent and unfettered as the day we were born.  It wasn’t long before the laughter and pointing began.  It was like the shower scene of Carrie, minus the flying tampons and chants of “Plug it Up!”.

This ridicule lasted for nearly forty minutes, and by the time it was over, I would have sold my spine to the devil for an ace bandage, let alone some frilly lace covered contraption like everyone else smugly sported. 

As I brought the story to a close, Cory swallowed her giggles and patted my arm, “Poor Mommy.  No wonder you always thrust out your chest when Sawyer comes on the screen during LOST…you’re just hoping he has a pencil in his pocket!”

Indignantly, I squealed, and chased her down, threatening to snap the back of her bra, which flat-chested or not, she was most certainly wearing.