Big Boobs & Jagger Lips ( A story about boobs, lips, fitting in, love, sisters, and undying love )
Kim & Kay. Sisters Forever.
~It’s taken nearly thirty odd years, but I’m sort of, kind of, in fashion.
You see, I wasn’t always this cool and confident and amazing. In middle school, I developed boobs before any of the other girls in class, and believe me, I wasn’t thrilled about it. Not a single bit. I wasn’t like some of those females who looked forward to their chests filling out, or those who couldn’t wait a moment longer to purchase a lacy, Victoria Secret bra. Nope. I was not one of those girls.
The world was better when you were here.—KSR.
~~~On your birthday, April 11, my dear sister, I will not mention the murder, the mourning, the loneliness, or how much I miss you. I will only focus on a few of my favorite memories of our special times together.
My family copes with my sister’s murder in various degrees.
For example, I make my brain numb for almost a year with merlot, cabernet, pinot noir, Mary Oliver, and Jesus. I can’t walk or breathe after the execution, but I can write. This is my sanity, my death, my new universe.
In July, I’m reflective and mindful. Philosophical. A little Zen-ish.
I’m homesick even when I’m sitting on my own couch, lounging in my own house.
“I will honour Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the year. I will live in the Past, the Present, and the Future. The Spirits of all Three shall strive within me. I will not shut out the lessons that they teach!” –Charles Dickens, A Christmas Carol.
Kay’s Memory Tree
Christmas is more than a season, it’s an emotion.
The scent of cinnamon, brown sugar, & sweet butter slide up my nostrils like an entire childhood.
I disappear into high school days, God searching days, free verse days.
Dedicated to Kay Marie who has given me the best days of my life…………………
~In sixth grade I was cursed with big breasts, and believe me, I Was Not happy about it. Not one single bit. You know the way some girls get all elxcited and idiotic declaring, “Hey, Mommy, I have some boobies now, can we please, please, please go pick out some cool, lacy, colorful bras at Target?”
I was not one of those girls.
In fact, I wore a faded Calvin Klein jean jacket to hide those babies most of the time, pretend they weren’t there, and hoped to God they’d disappear overnight. No such luck. They just kept damn well grooowing.
In the midst of the Twiggy lookalikes with taut perky ta-tas (Sue Rangy, I hate your guts) and girls who could go braless in gym class (Ms. Turnbloom was a Nazi bitch) I stood out like a circus freak. (At least I wasn’t the fat lady) that came later.
I still remember Turnbloom’s dark mustache twitching; her booming voice screeching like the Beast from “Beauty & the Beast,”… “Nobody is getting in the showers until Sisto does the rest of her jumping jacks.”
To this day, I believe Turnbloom wore long sleeves to hide the Swastika hidden discreetly beneath her massive Hulk Hogan arms.
Do you have any idea how difficult it is performing jumping jacks when one is well endowed and pissed off about that particular endowment in the first place?