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Jett Superior laid this on you on || February 6, 2006 || 11:18 pm

Your regular ole anyday conversation about boobs.

alternately titled, “What, this kind of shit doesn’t happen to you?”

Let’s just start this one out by saying that my new (as of September, anyway) boss knows I blog. You hear that? My boss knows I blog. He’s the first boss in the entire five-plus years of [Abuantg.] existence to know of its presence. Save for Maxim, anyway. And we all know that Maxim isn’t the de facto boss around here….he’s a bold decoy.


But my boss actually does know about my site. There goes all hope of me gaining Cyberian superstardom. I toil in obscurity forever.

So my boss knows I blog and my husband knows I blog and all the stars are in the heavens (except for the ones that are on their way down to serve up wishes or somesuch fairytale shit). I guess my mother could find this place, but at this point I’m just believing that ay) if you manage locate her and give her the info, I guess you earned it and bee) that would only provide fresh material for me to chaw on and spit the residual juices all over the monitor for you to savor.

As an aside, I would just like to say to my mother, I KNOW YOU HAVE BEEN LOOKING FOR MY BLOG. IT WAS ME THAT DELETED YOUR HISTORY’S CACHE. I am not sorry, lady! Not one bit! For Mother’s Day this year I am getting you a shirt with seventies-style flocked iron-on letters spelling out

Senorita Noseypants

Anyway, my boss knows about this place, and you are about up to speed save for the leaving-out of meaty instances and details which have been occupying my time as of late.

So there I was at work the other day and in comes a lovely older woman, late fifties maybe? to sign in and be seen. While getting her settled in a patient room, she asked for a special accomodation and went on to explain why, her eyes so blue and earnest that I wanted to drag my fingertips through the color and dab it on walls, my eyelids, anywhere it would lend itself to the service of good old fashioned breathy beauty.

“I need that pad for my chest. I have implants and they’re kinda uncomfortable and hard.” I excused myself.

She thanked me upon my return, stating that she should be used to them, as they’d been reconstructed nearly a year ago. Breast cancer. Double mastectomy. There then ensued a conversation that covered a topic I’d never really thought much about, as I’ve never mournfully boasted a family predisposed to breast cancer nor lost anyone to its ugliness: Breast reconstruction.

She started the conversation with great aplomb: “I’ve not had the nipples tattooed on yet. I’ve got to do that soon, ’cause they look like two little bald-headed babies.”

This woman just compared her tits to hairless newborns and I wanted to burst into my barking, maniacal laugh, but I managed to rein it in to a reasonable-sounding chuckle.

“Hey! I’ve never even thought about all the mechanics of putting a pair of breasts back on a woman. I had NO IDEA that tattooing was involved!”

She went on to explain that yeah, the areolas were inked on and small pieces of cartilage were used to build up the actual nipple (apparently it was, at one time, accepted practice to ‘bank’ or store your nipples for re-introduction. That shit is creepy to me. Frozen nipples? I can’t say for sure, but I think that in such a situation I’d feel a little Frankensteined, you dig? Brand-new ones? Not so much.)

Her honesty was so perfect, so engaging and settled, that I could’ve passed for a kid who is lovestruck with admiration for a particularly rad older cousin. I, quite like the dumbass I have it fully in me to be, stood there saying, “Coooo-ooooool.” She was just so great, and I felt like I had been given a present, just being able to talk to her.

I hope, down deep inside myself, that there are people that count themselves fortunate to have conversed with me, however briefly. I aim to be that sort of person….even moreso now that I’ve had the privilege of meeting Anne.

Thank you, Cosmos and Wonder, for holding hands and orchestrating these cool little moments that intersect lives and –however subtly and/or quickly– proffer up catalytic interactions between ordinary ole carbon-based bipeds.


4 worked it out »

  1. Coelecanth 2.7.2006

    It’s running nose-first into these kind of people that keeps me from hating humanity as a whole.

  2. CNL 2.7.2006

    *sigh* I love you.

  3. zee 2.9.2006

    Jett, it was a bit hard for me to read this yesterday, much less leave a comment as I was left in tears. I never lurk here -I come, enjoy, share in with my 2 cents, and hope to come back soon. It’s great in here like that. And I give you a standing ovation for sharing something like this with me. ;)

    But here I am again, a day after. My Aunt Nelly and I were talking over the phone short of a week ago, and she was sharing in all the details of her mastectomy and reconstruction of her one breast. She held me in awe as she shared all the details, and I felt so proud that I have such an amazing and strong woman for my aunt. I want to be strong like that, I thought to myself. She’s really got it together, even in such trying times. Wow…

    Then she told me cancer seems to want to make a comeback, zero-ing in on her other breast. It floored me. Still, she was strong -she’d beat it once, she’d beat it again.

    When I grow up… I wanna be strong like that. ;)

  4. Jettomatika 2.9.2006

    zee…I love that you are one of the repeat offenders around here. Readers like you totally make my day.

    I don’t comment much at your place, but I love your voice, as well. >:o)


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