By Ann Fonfa
Never again will I be able to serve dinner, lift up my top and be the topless waitress (with something on top). Never again will we walk arm in arm in the rain with his elbow bumping my breast (we talked of this in later years as one of our memorable moments). Never again will I wear a 34D bra. Good and bad. He remembers the first time he saw me without my blouse. He was stupefied. That memory lingers still. I was 19. Never again will I fill out my silk high neck blouses. Never again will crude men admire my “hangnail.” Never again will my breasts be crushed in a mammography machine. Never again will my breasts be crushed against my lover’s chest or breasts. Never again will my breasts ache before my period. That could have been changed by menopause if it had occurred first. Never again will I catch men addressing my chest instead of my face. They certainly used to. Never again will I be so relieved to remove my bra at the end of the day. I won’t have deep red marks on my shoulders anymore either. Never again will I fill out that black corset that Barbara bought for me at a tag sale for $0.50. It looked so good too. Never again. But then again, I’ll never be 25 again either. And life goes on its merry way. And my husband just called me gorgeous in that totally believable way he has. © Ann Fonfa 1997
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