Far from Perfect

Day 2 of the New Year and I am off to a staggering start.  After wasting Day 1 recovering from one eensy-weensy glass of wine too many, my morning today began with a 5 am row along the river.  Later, it is likely I will go for my usual Thursday swim, followed by my usual Thursday 6-10 clicker with Spunky in tow.

While it is business as usual for me, regardless of the time of year, I admit that I have been a little a-dither about what to resolve in 2014.   The truth is, self improvement for me is a continual and, I fear, infinite process.

But with each passing year, it becomes harder to concisely articulate what it is that I specifically, would like to change for the better.

Without meaning to sound smug or boastful, the reality is that, thanks to the devastation left by Cyclone Cancer, many of those goals that are the usual fodder of typical 'resolutions', have already been achieved.

In other words I have been generally looking after myself and at present, see my life on an upward parabola, if not exactly at its zenith.

Still there is always room for improvement, no?

I need to lose a couple more post-cancer kilos - and not just from my backside.  I could be svelter in the area of impatience, pride and arrogance.  I could afford to shed some of my critical and sarcastic words.  I could exercise my wisdom and my temperance a little more.  I could ease off on the empty calories in the unnecessary flattery that I unconsciously crank into overdrive when I'm trying to 'get on' with anyone I don't like -  I am ashamed of this tendency.

The thing is that perfection is a long way for me and I daresay, it is something I will never achieve.  Some things are simply a factor of personality and really, short of some undiagnosed psychiatric aberrance, isn't that something you are born with?

What I mean is that some aspect of you and me must simply be accepted.  Not everything can be changed with an 'I think I can, I know I can' attitude and a few verses of 'Auld Lang Syne'.

So why set yourself up for failure?

My tip for the year is, therefore, that whatever you resolve to change, do so understanding that there are also aspects about you that you - and those around you - must simply accept.

We are not all highly organised, disciplined exemplars of self control.

We are not all engineered to achieve - or even desire - physical or other perfection.

What we all need to resolve, therefore, is to cut ourselves some slack.

We all need to be easier on ourselves, to stop comparing ourselves to others and aspiring for unachievable standards.

Try as hard as I might, I am never going to wake up as Miranda Kerr and alas, the truth is that George Clooney will never know that I exist.

All I can be is a slightly better (wiser!) version of the me that was last year.  And I'm afraid, that's going to have to do.

All of us, I think, need to realise that we are no smaller, or weaker, or lesser in any way if we choose to rally on as usual.  Personal change is fantastic but not everyone is up for it.  Life can be pretty cosy in the comfort zone for some and, you know what?  That's okay!

You are still loved by someone.  There are still many people who care deeply about you.  And there are many people for whom you are perfect, just the way you are.  Alright, maybe not exactly 'perfect' but you know, pretty damn good!

So whatever goals you have set for yourself this year, do so accepting that if they are not achieved it's not the end of the world.

Love yourself and be kind to yourself - or it will be impossible for you to love or be kind to others.

What can be a better resolution than that?

In the meantime, I wish to announce that the winner of the competition to name my new plastic breast is Dieter Cornelius from Victoria.  Milli and Vanilli are the new starlets in my story.  Dieter, will receive the first hardback copy of 'The Breast is History' to be published this month.

(A Runner-Up prize of a free paperback copy also goes to Marlene Kelly (and Nicky Paull) for their suggestion, 'Kim and Khloe'.  (Alas it seems this line was used by Miley Cyrus in her brief role on 'Two and a Half Men' so may be questioned for its originality).  

Thank you everyone for who participated.

Happy New Year everyone!

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.