Growing Up or Bust!

I thought that with the introductions of my family I would be satisfactorily done with my reminiscing for a little while. Then I happened upon Facebook. My sister, Kendra, convinced me to try it out. I swear my family enables my addictive personality. Do they not realize that blogging and Facebook are now the objects of my obsession? I am placing blame for my lack of sleep and the insistent clicking from one email address to another (one for Blogspot and the other for Facebook) squarely on my family. Listen up family, “Stop offering me suggestions of joining this and writing there or my fingers will be permanently stuck to my keyboard.” When I am lying in the gutter begging the random passerby for internet access, you will have only yourselves to blame.

I joined Facebook on Saturday and already have acquired eleven friends. With the exception of my sister and my son, the rest are all old classmates from high school. I have looked through all of their photos; their lives looking so perfect to me. I wonder if they remember any of the angst of our teenage years. I wonder what memories they have of me. I remember them as being the best friends, the boys I mooned over for hours on end and some that glided through school hoping to be recognized or even hoping to slide through in virtual anonymity.

I mostly remember the one thing that seemed to set me apart from the other young girls in my class. BOOBS! I had them since the fifth grade. Fellow classmates, male and female, would gaze at them often, both sexes wishing they had them, for different reasons. All of them were so fascinated by them that they garnered various nicknames for me, ranging from “Puffs,” they swore I stuffed, “Bahama Mama,” chanted as I walked down the hallway or “Boobla’” derived from my maiden name of Sibla. They were also obsessed with my bras, the “Over-The-Shoulder-Boulder-Holder.” My undergarments saw more places than I did. Their views ranged from the top of a flagpole, inside of freezers, and ultimately on someone’s head.

I was convinced that my breasts were actually a totally separate person just attached to me for a symbiosis relationship. I can prove this theory because they had their own anatomy. My breasts have eyes because everyone stares at them. They have ears because everyone talks to them. And they definitely have a mouth because every time I reach across the dinner table they plop into the mashed potatoes.

Having these two incredible beings attached to me did make me very popular in school. I wonder if my friends from Facebook still remember me or just my breasts. Either way, I remember them fondly as the cute young boys who tried to kiss me and the sweet young girls who befriended in spite of the two objects they coveted.