23 Feb 2015
In my youth I believed this only applied to the arses and visages of grandmothers. Alas, this is not the case.
Her point was, of course, that as you age there are some benefits to being fatter, but I had forgotten the wider application of her advice. I recently lost around a stone and a half (I think, but I don’t weigh myself, so I can’t be sure). I was of course delighted (we are all supposed to be slim right?) and was merrily throwing baggy jeans from my wardrobe to be replaced by brand new teeny tiny ones. But on closer inspection, I noticed with horror that it was not just my backside that had shrunk.
My upstairs has traditionally been rather more than a good handful, and of course boobs are largely made of fat. Fat that has now disappeared, taking with it my rather splendid 32Gs. Cleavage that would once have given the most buxom of barmaids a run for their money now looks like a pair of sad spaniel’s ears. As I peer into my half empty brazier with utter horror, I feel like the victim of a bizarre accident: it had registered with me on an intellectual level that this kind of thing can happen; I just never thought it would happen to me.
Obviously something must be done (must it?) but what?
I cannot face implants. I already have enough scars from various childbirth procedures (my lower abdomen looks not unlike a topographical map of the Alps) and I don’t really want to add any more. I’ve read leaflets from several healthcare providers who claim that the scars are virtually invisible, but I just don’t buy that. If you’re going hack open enough of my décolletage to shove in a large bag of silicon then there has to be a long scar. That’s just the maths. They also slice off your nipple and sew it on somewhere else, and I can’t even type that without crying a bit. Besides which, I’ve got used to the girls disappearing when I lay down. It keeps my arms pits warm.
Maybe I should look into that procedure where they suck the fat from your hips and inject it into your fun bags? Apparently it only makes a small hole and at least it’s your own bodily substances you are using. Not so much surgery as strategic repositioning of resources. I’m slightly worried though that this will have some kind of domino effect. There’s only so much fat in my body and clearly it has decided to reside in certain places. If I remove it from my hips and pump it into my tits, what next? Will my hips call for reinforcements from my face, leaving it sagging like a boiled cabbage as the fat currently hiding my wrinkles dashes south?
Clearly the only answer is to make the choice that Ms Gabor wisely advised would eventually come my way. And since I can’t face deflated sweater stretchers, I’ll just keep those baggy jeans, and dig out that forbidden chocolate for which I now have a fabulous excuse.
