It’s premiere time for the new boobs

My hair is dripping wet. I just got out of the shower. I am getting ready for work. I am going to work today for the first time since I got surgery, and I’m honestly scared. Everyone I know is going to see them for the first time. I didn’t anticipate that I would give two s**ts about people’s reactions but here I am, wondering if I should just take a nap instead of going to work. Saturday, I made my first attempt to go to work and I failed miserably. I put on my fake eyelashes, did my hair and packed my tacky plastic shoes. I made a stop at my boyfriend’s house. I had been out of town and I wanted to spend time with him so I went. Work wasn’t especially urgent. I hung out with him for a while. I lay in bed thinking, “It’s getting late. Maybe I should wait 'til the next shift begins. Cheaper house fee.” The time came close to the beginning of the next shift. “If I stay awake for the next shift, I’m really going to mess up my sleep schedule. I’m kind of tired. I wouldn’t make any money anyway,” I reasoned. And there I slept like chicken s**t.

“Never get your boobs done,” a customer told me on the last day I went to work. “Real is so much better.” This was days before I was scheduled to have surgery. I didn’t even bring up the topic of fake boobs. He just volunteered that information. “I keep hearing that,” I told him. It’s true. I got almost no encouragement from anyone. Many were adamantly opposed to the idea. Some people are just against plastic surgery in general and some think I’m empty, superficial and way too wrapped up in being a stripper for doing it.

I love my big fake boobs now. That wasn’t always the case. I was really freaked out at first, when I saw them in the mirror. The post-operative swelling, which I mentioned before, was something I wasn’t necessarily prepared for. It was pretty ridiculous. Like giant-boob-niche porn big. The few people who knew I had surgery weren’t supportive in the first place and certainly weren’t going to baby-sit me through my whiny healing phase. I felt really isolated. I got a dangerous case of post-operative depression. I wanted to dig them out with a spoon or just curl up and die entirely. I could hear them sloshing around in my body like gelatinous parasites and I started to hate living with them. I’ve read that serious depression is not an uncommon side effect of surgery so I thought, with that knowledge, I’d be able to combat the sadness but it got the best of me.

One month after surgery, there is no swelling. They’ve settled. They’re silent. They’re beautiful. I am glad I did enough research to find a doctor I would highly recommend to any girl who is ready to go through the same procedure. I have one of the best boob jobs I’ve seen on anyone, both aesthetically and for softness. I shouldn’t be so nervous, I suppose.

I better dry my hair and put on some lipstick now. Wish me luck. It’s a big holiday weekend.


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