Wednesday, September 29, 2010


When I was either 11 or 12 years old, my boobs introduced themselves to my body.  I was a very awkward girl with a nice pair of tits, which made made me feel and act even more awkward.  My boobs were often hidden by shirts two or three sizes too big.  I thought that something that brought me unwanted attention should be hidden.  When I was in the seventh grade, I caught my math teacher looking down my shirt on way too many occasions.  I had people I knew and some I didn't go, "Damn, girl, nice tits."  That just made me want to hide them even more.

For years, my boobs were hidden by baggy and oversized clothing.  At my first job, nobody believed I was a 34C until I went into the back closet, took my bra off and brought it back and showed everyone.  "Lara's a 34C?!?"  Hindsight- never should have done that.  I was 17 and shy as hell.  Two of my coworkers from that job actually took me shopping so I could wear boob shirts.  They thought it was a shame that I had these funbags and nobody knew.

I went through a period in my 20s where I would wear some tight, revealing tanktops.  I thought to myself: I'm skinny and have big boobs.  Why not?  I did have a couple of encounters with drunk assholes who thought they had every right to grope my boobs.  Each of those dudes got a physical reaction from me.  This one guy at the Beehive pretended to trip and simultaneously groped my boob and grabbed my friend's crotch.  I grabbed the guy by the arm and pushed him to the ground, screaming "MOTHER FUCKER."  This guy at the only frat party I've ever been to, pulled my bra and top down and said to me while leering, "Nice tits."  I covered myself back up, pushed him and told him to eat shit and die.  My favorite was this guy at Ozzfest when I was 20 or 21.... He was walking down the hill with his hand like he was going to honk me, so I had my fist ready like I would punch him.  Moral of the story: unless I asked, nobody had a right to touch my breasts or any part of my body.  If they did, I would make them pay.

I've received numerous compliments on my boobs.  They have been the praise of many, and yes, I let it get to my head.  I know exactly what to do to make the boobs look spectacular.

When I was 21 years old, I had a surgery to remove a fibroadenoma.  When I was 28 years old, I was diagnosed with fibrocystic breast disease and bilateral fibroadenomas. That was when my relationship with my breasts became complicated.  It turned into a love/hate relationship.  I always knew breast cancer was coming for me.  I knew it.  I have cried multiple times because of it.  This was definitely something I did not want to be right about.  Every year when I went for my mammogram, that thought: "This is your future.  Breast cancer is coming for you," kept getting louder and louder in my mind. 

I love my breasts but I don't want to die because of them.  If my best chances at kicking cancer to the curb and never having to see it again means my breasts have to go, then they are gone.  I will mourn them and move on.  My breasts do not define me.  They are just the exclamation point to who I am.  Maybe I will bury some of my bras in my backyard.  Invite my friends over - we'll wear black. 


  1. Yes Mr. what was his name? I remember talking about those incidents. He was such a dirty old man.