A Poem Before Weigh In

A Poem Before Weigh-In

As I step onto the scale,

I pray, Oh Lord, I'm not a whale.

I've gone to the restroom and blown my nose.

I've shaved my legs down to my toes.

I've plucked and tweezed and cleaned out my ears.

I hope this will help calm my fears.

I've flossed my teeth. I've trimmed my nails.

I've heard that last step rarely fails!

I've popped all zits and stripped off my clothes.

What else can I do? Lord only knows...

I chant, " Light as a feather...I'm lighter than air...

I'm a teeny, tiny model-type with nary a care."

So as I tiptoe onto the scale,

I pray, oh Lord, I'm not a whale.

And if I've not lost as much as I should,

I'll know that I did all I could.

(Just a little pre-weigh-in advice from the master!)

Ode to My Reduction - The Time Has Come...

My Dearest Hercules and Atlas,

You have been my constant companions since I was twelve years old, but the time has come for us to go our separate ways. As we end this sixteen year journey, I look fondly back on the memories we made together…

No longer will we be able to mock the multitudes of men who trip over their own jaws as they gape at your bountiful “blessings.” Good-bye to the days of free tire rotations and cheap car inspections. No more moving to the front of the line at movie theaters or at Best Buy. So long free drinks at Happy Hour and extra donuts from Donut Palace.

Please know that although I may be doing the Happy-Happy, Joy-Joy Dance at the thought of being able to throw away my hideously unattractive 38DD bras, you will always have a special place in my heart. Rest assured that as I’m skipping braless around my apartment singing, “I’ve got perky boo-bies!!! I’ve got perky boo-bies!!!,” I’m also thinking of the two of you and the moments we shared.

Fare thee well, my not-so-little friends… You’ll be missed…

Ode to My Reduction - One Day to Go

The second day after Boob Job

I say farewell to thee…

… Bye-bye extra “hands” …

(Have you ever found yourself in need of an extra helping-hand? Maybe you’ve got your hands full, but you need to make a photocopy or send a fax. “Regular” people have to put down the items in their hands before they can carry on with their work. The graciously-endowed simply use an extra “hand” to press the little green button. Many employers would never admit it, but I believe they prefer to hire “big girls” due to our increased productivity.

 

The “extra hands” thing brings me to another common problem… Potlucks… For most people, potluck dinners involve much skill… Precariously balancing separate dinner and dessert plates, silverware, and a drink all the while attempting to find a way to carry everything back to the chair you’ll be eating in… No table, mind you… Just a chair. For most people, potlucks present a serious problem… Not so for the bountifully-busted! We can easily carry a plate in each hand, and a drink tucked into our cleavage. No table? No problem! We just rest our plates right there on our chests, and have a grand old time. No hassle, no mess, no problem!)

And built-in cushions made of boobies.

Ode to My Reduction - Two Days to Go

As the big day approaches, I find myself becoming a little bit nostalgic. Having massive hooters isn’t all bad. So, in the interest of fairness, I’ve decided to dedicate these last few days to a few of the good “big booby” qualities.

(Also to be performed to the tune of The Twelve Days of Christmas,but sing slowly, and reverently… Think violins and harps…)

On the first day after Boob Job

I say farewell to thee…

… Built-in cushions made of boobies…

(Have you ever gotten out of bed in the middle of the dark night, misjudged where you were, walked straight into the wall and broke your nose? Have you ever done a set of pushups, have your arms give out at the end, and fall down cracking your chin on the floor?

Well, I haven’t!!! I’ve been blessed to have breasts large enough to break the impact well before my nose or chin become endangered.

Not only do large breasts prevent bodily injury, they also make excellent floatation devices. I have yet to meet a large-breasted woman who couldn’t float indefinitely on her back. Life jacket? I don’t need one… I have built-in buoyancy.

I suppose I’ll just have to get used to facial injuries. And I should probably learn how to swim while I’m at it.)

Ode to My Reduction - Day Twelve

On the twelfth day of Boob Job

the Good Witch gave to me
 

Source

… A comfortable night’s sleep …

(It’s 2:00am… You’ve been visiting dreamland for about three hours, when suddenly you realize something is horribly wrong. “Can’t breathe! Must have oxygen!” you think as you force yourself to wake up. You awaken only to discover that you had turned onto your stomach sometime during the night, and your gigantor breasts have somehow managed to wrap themselves around your throat. Strangulation is only one of the many sleeping discomforts caused by massive hooters.

There are no comfortable sleeping positions for big-boobied women. You can lie on your back, but your breasts flop over your arms, trapping them to your sides like a straight jacket. You can attempt to roll over, but your chest tends to function as a speed bump and stops you halfway there. Lie on your stomach, and you have that whole strangulation factor to deal with.
I can’t wait for the night when I can finally sleep in peace!)

… No more underwire …

… No more pesky stains …

… No more “busty” nicknames …

… Eye-contact from men …

… A little bit less cleavage …

… Clear view of my feet …

… NO MORE BACK PAIN!!! …

… No more injuries …

… Many shirts that button …

… Matching bras and panties

…And a small pair of perky boobies!