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Thursday, December 12, 2013

Abreast of A Competition

I didn't want to do it - even tangentially touch on the subject of 'breast cancer'.  But today I can't help it.

Because last night, an important package arrived, all the way from a German manufacturer via China (of course).

You may have heard of Soap-on-a-Rope?  Well me, I have Boobs-on-a-Bra.  In fact I am sitting in them as I speak.

Made of a soft silicone and pale pink in colour, the item was suggested by my sister Fiona who came across them in a routine haul through EBay.

It took me about five seconds to decide I wanted a set, but I was overcome with indecision when it came to picking the size.

B Cup?  D Cup?  HH Cup?

A brief survey of my breast cancer Facebook group, my husband and a couple of pals and the choice was made.  A B Cup.

But when the item arrived, I opened the box and was a little startled.  You wouldn't believe how big small fake boobs can look.

To work out how to put the device together took three sets of hands:  Me to hold up the chicken fillets, Ethel and Al to adjust the straps.

Yesterday evening, Al and I had decided to go to trivia so I thought I'd give my new boobs a bit of an outing.

The thing with these boobs is that they have nipples, so under my jersey dress, I really did look like I had emerged from the cold.

But Al seemed to think they looked real enough for the guys.  And he was right!

What a sensation they caused.  Garry gave them an appreciative squeeze.  Mike, the loveable Trivia Host (now almost like family), was momentarily taken aback.

I did have a few occasions when the fillets poked out, or snapped apart but all in all, my newest acquisition passed the test run.  They were a little sticky and uncomfortable on my scar line, but I put that down to the humid weather.  And Ethel points out, I'm so used to being braless now, it might take some getting used to.

While they are most likely to be stored in a shoe box and used infrequently, here is what they look like on.  (I apologise for the hideous site of scarring and excess flesh (left, just in case, I actually want a full reconstruction some-time-maybe-never).


When I think about it, they are really appropriate for me because guess what my name "Bronwyn" means?  That's right, it means "White Breast"

Lyndal has kindly offered to colour them brown to match.  I may take her up on that offer one day.

In the meantime, I am now in lather as I am not sure what I should call them?  Nicky and Paris are gone.  What shall I call this new even more plastic pair?

To help me out, I've decided to run a small competition.  Submit your best suggestion for a mammary moniker below, and I'll reward you with the first, hardback copy of my upcoming new memoir, signed even!

I'm afraid, as an out-of-work haus frau, that's the best I can offer.

That, or maybe a grope of my new boobies - but you'll have to ask nicely.



Competition closes when I can be shagged writing my next blog.  Yeh.  I'll decide then.











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