,” where I played a sexy cop . I’d even done a couple of brief topless scenes in movies ― my breasts were small enough that partial nudity never felt like a big deal. I had fame and beauty and money and no trouble attracting men, but, the truth was, no amount of success could improve my low self-esteem. So when my friend held out the possibility of perfection with her comment ― “You’d be a 10 if your boobs were bigger” — I believed that if I “fixed” my outside, my inside would follow.
Reta had modestly sized breasts and wore falsies when she worked. Sometimes I snuck into her closet, took one of her foam rubber inserts from her lingerie drawer, and paraded around, creating a flannel nightgowned preteen burlesque show. So, years later, when my friend suggested I get implants, her advice appealed to a broken part of me — the part that still longed to be as beautiful as my mother and her magical, sparkling dressing room dancers. The part that still believed that if only I could perfect the outside, the inside would feel “enough.”
They took a lot of getting used to. When I laid on my stomach, it was like being on an air mattress. When I ran or danced they bobbed and pulled uncomfortably unless I wore a constricting sports bra. Whenever I wore something tight or low-cut, men stared at my chest.I began teaching yoga, a discipline I’d studied for years. I grew self-conscious ― there I was, with a set of plastic tits atop my chest like donuts on a plate, preaching wellness and spirituality.
LOL
You've got nothing else but your boobs attract people to you.
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