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My Mission For New Boobs

I only have one boob. This is completely indicative of my personality even in utero. Like I guarantee fetus me was super-duper focused on designing my future tits. And then I got bored and decided to just go pick out my femurs real quick, which then led to me flipping through hair and eye color swatches, and ultimately deciding on which model of pancreas I wanted. Meanwhile, I totally forgot to go back and fix my future knocker and the next thing I know, I was being pushed out into this weird world. It was too late.

Anyway, I had my boobs done ten years ago. It was probably one of the best days of my life even though I don’t remember it because I was totally stoned. According to Mike, as the nurse was wheeling me out to the car, the security guard at the hospital told me to, “Get Well Soon!” Apparently, I just high-fived the dude and informed him I had just had an “elective surgery” with a wink. 

I can only liken this particular surgery to childbirth. Like I knew my body was totally jacked up from what just happened, but I had this new precious gift (or in this case, twins) to care for. Any physical pain I was experiencing, was now secondary to the great calling bestowed upon me. I was entirely consumed by ensuring that my precious new babies thrived. So much so, that I even finished ALL my prescribed antibiotics.

Actually, I really only recall it hurting super badly when my then toddler round-kicked me in my two-day old tits while we were sleeping. That was a pretty messed up thing to do to someone, but I decided to forgive her. According to my shrink, forgiveness is a gift you give yourself. (And soooo are fake boobs Sister.)

And this brings us to the next part of the story, where I scheduled the next available appointment with my renown plastic surgeon to have my implants replaced…in March of next year. And even though I just turned forty, I don’t want giant cougar boobs. I just want a tire rotation and to make sure everything looks good under the ole’ hood. 

Anywho, I was chilling on the couch with my laptop and a collagen face mask when Mike informed me he was going to a meeting regarding a mission trip in a third world country. I awkwardly turned off our gas fireplace, tried to hide my almond milk Starbucks latte and muted the TV. “Okay Later!” 

Of course, Mike would volunteer to go on a mission trip. The dude also gave his kidney to his dad. (Ironically, my next door neighbor also gave her kidney to her dad. So, we are legit down two organs on the block. My neighbor and I begged Mike to sign up for The Amazing Race as the team with only two kidneys combined, but he refused. Probably because he had something more important to do with his time like deworm orphans or start a non-profit to teach dejected parents how to do common core math.) 

Whatever, good for him. I have volunteered my time as well. In fact, I selflessly fed the hungry for four straight years. I fed them night and day, until they had molars and were speaking in complete sentences. I fed them when my nipples were cracked and bleeding, when I was utterly exhausted, had the flu, was sitting in the back of cars, huddled in bathroom stalls, and in public parks. I totally did my part to ensure the evolution of the human species. Pacified by my rationale, I went back to watching my serial killer show. 

A couple hours later, Mike got home and announced he was going to go do dental work for people in some country I had never heard of, with his Mormon dentist friends. I grinned, “Good for you! When are you going? Are you turning Mormon? Are you going to stop drinking coffee? Are you going for two whole years?” Mike excitedly said a bunch of crap, but all I heard was, “March 2020.” 

“Wait. You are going in March? But that is when I am having my surg-you know what? Never mind! That is so great of you. So, so great.” Shit. Mike blabbed on while I immediately began running through my list of people who owed me favors since I was going to need a ride to my boob job. (Annnnd according to the tally I keep in my brain, there are a lot of you bastards out there.) Besides, this is like the world’s best homecoming present. Surprise Mike! I got these for you! 

Mike stared at me inquisitively, “Erin- So what do you think?”

“About what? Sounds awesome. I would definitely make sure your vaccinations are up to date. Like get a flu shot fo sho. And like maybe don’t drink the water. Pack some sunscreen and bug spray.”

“No. About you and the kids coming?! The other doctors are bringing their spouses and kids. I think it would be such a great opportunity for you and the girls!” I felt myself tense up.

I softly stared at Mike and all his beautiful, manly goodness. I acknowledged my oppressive guilt creeping up, wondering if I was going to disappoint him and God when I said what I was about to say. I gently told myself to stop. Mike and I are two individual souls, with unique earth assignments. My relationship with God is sacred, funny and loving; it is not one of condemnation and judgement. I have learned to act when I am inspired to do so, knowing not every opportunity or situation is intended for me. Tell your truth Erin. Deep Breath.

“Mike, I am not going and neither are the girls. I will lovingly keep watch over everything at home, so you feel at peace while you are doing your work there. Also, remember that I am having my breast implants replaced during this time, but I know everything will work out perfectly. I’ve got this.”

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