Wednesday, November 30, 2005
This morning as I bent over to put on my shoes, I felt a sharp pain in my right breast. When I stood up, it wasn’t as bad but the pain was still there. Visions of mammograms and chemotherapy went through my head. I’m not an alarmist but my grandmother died of breast cancer at a very young age so that’s where my brain goes if I have any sort of breast-ial discomfort.
I reached under my bra and began prodding and poking my poor boob but couldn’t find the source of the pain. However, as I bent down to put on my other shoe, I was hit again with the same sharp shooting pain. Crap. I went back into examination mode. However, this time, I examined the bra instead of the breast. There it was. The underwire in my bra had broken free of its little fabric prison and had been stabbing my poor booby.
The underside of my right breast now has a lovely little puncture wound. Thank God, it’s only the result of a little self-mutilation caused by a worn-out bra that had seen better days. Rest in peace, my old bosom buddy. It’s to the trash with you, never to defy the laws of gravity again hoisting my mighty breasts high into the air as I walked proudly about the planet. You served us well.