Summer Fling...
Even the phrase makes me get goosebumps, but not in a good way. More like when you think of something horrific and just wrong, like a dog walking on its hind legs for a long period of time.
Why? Well, a summer fling implies swimsuits – bikinis even. And right when my fellow female classmates had discovered that they looked pretty cute in them, I was discovering that I had boobs. Again though, not in a good way. Refer back to the dog walking on its hind legs analogy.
My boobs showed up way before anyone else’s. They walked onto center stage and DEMANDED attention, which wasn’t hard to get since I was also taller than everyone else and my nipples were right at their eye level. Boys in their thirties might think that’s kind of awesome, but boys that haven’t hit the actual teens yet are pretty much just terrified.
And their fear of my boobs translated into calling me an Amazon, which now that I’m older I rather take as a compliment. But it’s kind of hard to encapsulate feminine mystique and nobility when you’re head and shoulders above your friends and all the boys automatically assume you’re a lesbian because you can beat them at any sport.
Period.
(Oh yeah, that happened early too. Thanks, Mama Nature).
Wearing a bathing suit in front of my classmates happened approximately once, and ended with someone moo-ing at me and me subsequently attempting to drown them. Fast forward to me in high school and suddenly the boobs aren’t so much a drawback anymore. People kind of like them. I get a lot of, “Hey, I wish I would’ve been nicer to you back in junior high.”
Yeah, I bet you do.
Especially since Amazons have such long memories.