For most of life I wished for larger boobs. Not huge boobs. Not even large boobs. Just larger boobs. I started wearing a training bra in the 7th grade. I didn't even need one; my mother probably just felt sorry for me. I stuffed that trainer once in a while, thinking I was all that, until I noticed it didn't give me bigger boobs, just crinkly-looking boobs and an occasion corner of tissue peeking out from under my blouse. All through high school I wore a double-A cup. People pegged me for the athletic type.
I would pray to God, "Please God, give me larger boobs." In the midst of reading Seventeen magazine I would break into prayer when I saw the perfect set of perky, teenage breasts. "Please God, larger boobs, just like these," I would say as I pointed to the picture.
The other day I looked in the mirror and cursed God for misunderstanding. Oh, I don't have that little set of mosquito bites I once so modestly covered with what amounted to gauze pads attached with elastic. Careful what you wish for, they always say.
"Damn it! I said larger boobs! Not lower boobs! Not longer boobs! Larger!" Of course I'm not praying for anything on my body to be larger at this point in my life. Now I just pray for the day when we can all live on the moon where zero gravity will be my saving grace.
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