Flatsy Patsy


I was a member of the “Itty Bitty Titty Committee.”  It’s true.  I had the tank top to prove it.  My friend and I each had one.  It was a great committee to be a part of.  We were so cool.  I know, anyone who knows me can’t believe it.  I was a flat-chested teenager.

What’s worse is we would actually walk around with this shirt on.  I mean, walk a mile to the deli after school on a main road kind of wear.  Wow.  There are no other words.

I used to get teased in school for my lack of, um, boobies.  There was this one certain boy, let’s call him “Danny.”  Well, because that was his actual name.  He used to rub the top of the desk like he was rubbing my chest.  Even though it appears as if I completely embraced my lack of….boobies, Danny really got to me.  Once I ran home crying to my dad.  He was so supportive.  His reply?  “Well, it’s true.”  Nice, dad, real nice.  Danny even bought me a box of bandaids once.  And they weren’t meant to cover a cut.

One day, I woke up and there they were.  Finally.  I was about 17.

It was some time after graduation and I was pumping gas at a local gas station when guess who is getting gas at the next pump over?  Yup. You got it.  Danny.  There was genuine shock on his face and he seemed a bit too happy to see me.  But there was something wrong with his eyes.  Yo Dan, up here dude.  My face is up here, about 6 inches higher.  Oh, and eat your heart out.  I heard he married a flat-chested girl.  Hahahahaha…sorry.  I’m over it.  Really, I am.

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