If my breasts were 22, this wouldn’t happen!

“Just one more?  Please can’t we watch just one more?” I beg.

“No Mummy.  We’ve already watched three episodes.  You’re done,” says Rissa.

I look over to David forlornly.

He shrugs.  “The kid has spoken.  It’s bedtime for Bonzo.”

I throw myself across their laps, wailing in dissatisfaction.  They are unmoved.  As I am lying across their laps, I look down at my chest.  My breasts have caved in.

“What the?!?”  I struggle up and look down again, poking at my chest.  The girls are up where they belong.

I lie back down sideways across Rissa, my gaze now chestward.  Dents.  My breasts have DENTS!!!  The padded t-shirt bra cups are DENTED!!

“What are you doing?” Rissa asks.

“My boobs have dents,” I say, poking at them.  I move back to sitting.  “See this?  No dents!”  I lie across Rissa once more.   poke, poke…  “Now?  DENTS!!!” 

My spouse and child do their best not to laugh, but are unsuccessful.

“Not funny, guys!  NOT FUNNY.  This means that I have floppy breasts.  FLOPPY BREASTS!!!” No longer wailing because they won’t let me watch another Mindy Project, I am now wailing in narcissism.

“It’s okay Mummy,” says Rissa patting my arm.  “No one will know.”

“I…  I will know!!  And your father, because he sleeps with me when I am naked.  “My breasts are DEFLATING!!!“

“They are not deflating,” says David.  “They are…”

“Don’t you dare say aging!”

“I wasn’t…”

“Or ripening…”

“How about…?” 

“Or curing…”

“Transforming??”

“Into what exactly?”

“…soft pillowy… butterflies?”

“Okay, I can get on board with that.”