Unless you live under a unirock, you have heard about the Uniboob.
A woman underwent plastic surgery for breast augmentation, only to wake up with a Uniboob, a single breast that stretched across her entire chest. Although she sued and won enough for reconstructive surgery, the woman admitted that she had made the mistake of not checking the surgeon’s credentials prior to the Titmentation.
Part of me wants to shriek, “WHAT? You didn’t check out Dr. Cantaloupes?! You were just asking for those Double Whammies to become a single Lady Gaga!”, but there is another part of me that understands. And sympathizes.
I know what’s it like to want heftier Hefties. It just so happens that when I was a young actress with Love Melons that were closer to the size of Love Kiwi, I considered plastic surgery. I verbally and loudly considered it, in fact, to the point where my friend Laura drew me a cartoon entitled “The L.A. Financial Dilemma.” It was a small-hootered me with a thought bubble over my head, “Boobs or a car? Boobs or a car?”
If you know anything about Los Angeles, one cannot survive without an automobile. I was this close to choosing the Pointer-Sisters over the Prius. So what if I had to wait two hours for a bus down Rodeo Drive? I would be waiting two hours with a nice rack. I am happy to tell you that I chose neither, instead moving to New York City where I sported my Niblets on the subway.
There were still many times, though, that the thought of larger Fun Bags drifted into my mind, and I wondered if there were any way that I could financially swing it (them). And maybe if I hadn’t started going to church and got my inner self together and become satisfied with my God-given Gob Stoppers, perhaps I would have become that woman who was so desperate for Dirigibles that she neglected to even verify her surgeon’s LobLollies license.
Please know that I’m not Knockering plastic surgeon in general—I actually do believe that plastic surgery has its time and its place and who am I to judge, considering that there have been times that I wanted Wahwahs so badly that I put chicken cutlets in my bra. Not the rubber breast enhancers that movie stars sometimes wear, I’m talking real raw chicken. But it makes me sad to think that there are women out there who are so desperate to look the way they think they should that they would look the other way when it comes to sense and safety. Because there’s not a pair of Palooka Bassoons in the world that are worth that.
About Dusty
Real chicken cutlets. That… That is so incredibly disturbing that I want to be your best friend.
Twitter Name: justanothermom
Hi, bestie.
How incompetent do you have to be as a surgeon that you don’t notice that a single huge composite boob is physically wrong?
Twitter Name: pocketropolis
Um… right?
Big boobs, small boobs, no boobs at all? I say extricate yourself from the issue entirely by getting a big, scary tattoo on your chest. Nobody will pay any attention to the size of your tits if you have, say, a Grim Reaper riding your sternum. Trust me on this one.
Twitter Name: GaytheistGospel
Grim Reaper on the decolletage? I like it.
I had a friend whose implant shifted upward into her armpit. Not sure if that’s better or worse than a uniboob.
Twitter Name: Izzymom
An underarm boob? Not sure.
Uh, I used to own a pair of those chicken cutlets of which you speak. But they made me too sweaty and that was not good for the boobage. I got a rash. I ditched ‘em.
;-)
Twitter Name: erinmargolin
The boobage is never happy adorned in poultry.
LobLollies – priceless. : )
you always had nice LL’s, as I recall. Not to be weird or anything.
One time I left my chicken cutlets on the counter after a long night of overachieving boobage. In the morning I was disturbed to find them gone…and a freshly baked Chicken a la King casserole in the refrigerator.
True story.
Twitter Name: coolwhipmom
I.Love.That.
I’ve always been lucky in that I have loved having “niblets” – and going braless for most of my life. Baby #2 gave me horrible veiny legs, however, and a few times I’ve looked down and thought, “Maybe I should zap those away.” And the same goes for the Michelin ring above (yes, above) my belly button. How the heck my daughter managed to give me that, I’ll never know. Or it could be my love of Twix Bars…
Twitter Name: kdwald
But do you still have Niblets? Because the braless thing is one of the few high points of N’s.
You know what?
I was made for the simple midwest.
I talk a big talk,,,but, really…just leave me here.
I’m fine.
Twitter Name: gdrpempress