Well, I’ve finally done it. Almost as good as the fountain of youth, I have found the perfect weight loss method. Illness. Specifically, the fear of eating due to illness.

Yep. If you’ve followed my blog, you know I got terribly ill a couple of months back. Had to get Botox in all the wrong places (my vocal chords), go on a very restricted diet and have consequently shed 16 pounds! You heard me Weight Watchers and Slim Fast! 16 pounds! In two months! And I didn’t pay anyone a penny. Well, unless you count the hundreds of dollars I put out in co-pays, tests, and medications. But I don’t count it. Because it’s my blog and I don’t want to.  

So I’m back to my fighting weight. Except for the fact that I’m so weak I couldn’t fight my way out of a paper bag at the moment. Lack of adequate nutrition will do that to you. But I’m skinny!

Okay. So it’s not the ideal way to lose weight. But hey, everyone is always telling me to look at the cup as half full. So I am. My cup is officially half full.

Unfortunately so, too, is my bra cup.

Cuz you know what happens when you lose a chunk of weight fast? It doesn’t disappear from your problem areas first. Nope, not the thighs or the belly, or those little jigglers that fall over the back of your bra between your shoulder blades and armpits. It disappears from the parts you’re trying to hold on to! Like my boobs.

And I liked my boobs. They were one of the few things I genuinely liked about my body. They were cute. Not huge. But adequate. They got me through dating and into marriage. They even got me through three weeks of breastfeeding and I’m convinced would have made it the whole year if Julia didn’t have trouble breaking down the sugars in my breast milk.

They were perky and pleasant. Not Claim Jumper portions. Not even close. But more like something you’d get at a fancy restaurant. Small but satisfying. “Sensible” my grandmother would say.

“Louvrers” (pronounced Loovers) as an old boyfriend once put it. Meaning they belonged hanging in “The Louvre”.

I don’t know. Maybe that’s where they are. Because they ain’t here.

So while I’m back into my skinny jeans and to shopping in the Juniors department again (well, if I actually had the guts to do it at my age) – I am also missing my breasts. Both literally and figuratively.

Figuratively, from the neck down, I look like one of the Jonas Brothers. The skinny one.

It’s worse when I wear my sports bra. Then I look like I have more cleavage between my shoulder blades than I do on my chest.

I know. I know.  I’m back to the cup half empty attitude. Gotta look at the bright side. Which is…That breast self-exam’s gonna be a piece of cake from now on.