Enlisting Dad To Find A First Bra

On Enlisting Dad To Find A First Bra

When I was 12, I worried that I might never grow breasts. There I was, all of 80 pounds, nothing but skin and bones, bruised shins, a mouth full of braces, and not a curve in sight. I worried that I would remain forever a little girl with nothing on my chest but bumps — bumps that my busty classmate, Linda, referred to as “pimples in need of Band-Aids.”

Although I had my older and younger sisters, the person I needed most was my mother. She had died three years earlier in a car accident, leaving me with an aching pit in my stomach and too many unanswered questions in my mind. I couldn’t imagine what my mother would have said if I had complained about my flat chest. I just knew that she would have known what to do.

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