Odd Combo

Posted: October 5th, 2011 | Author: | Filed under: Uncategorized | Comments Off

    Nipples, high beams and Anchovies. An odd combo for sure … but it’ll all make sense to you in a bit.
    Nipples. For the most part, I would venture to guess that most women in general don’t think all that much about their nipples. Well, at least not until they’re pulling a “We’re Stuck in Aisle 9, Freezer Section” high alert pop-up; or a “Chicken’s Done” or “The Turkey’s Finally Ready” timer boing on us under a tight fitting sweater.

A green Star Trek alien vixen.

    I’ve been actively mulling over my nipple situation for well over a year now — Ever since I knew I was having a bilateral mastectomy done. In truth, losing my nipples was very upsetting to me for quite a while. As of today, it’s just 20+ days short of it having been a full year since I sacrificed my breasts and nipples to appease a Carcinoma In Situ demon.    After my surgery, for several months, I totally avoided looking at my nippleless chest in the mirror. Then, per my usual “Screw You Fear” attitude, I made myself stand there and stare at them. I stood there, staring, waiting for tears to start flowing. But no tears came, only laughter did..
    Gazing at my unnatural looking reflection I found myself saying aloud, in an exaggerated Hollywood alien’s monotone voice, “Screw meeting your planet’s leader. Provide tequila. Provide five young studs. My species must procreate.”
     Yet again, I ended up cracking up laughing all by myself in the bathroom.
    Well? You try it! Just imagine yourself with no nipples! Trust me, you’d end up feeling like you just walked onto a sci-fi movie set and heard “Alien Seduction Scene/Take Two.”
    But, after my good laughter session and my Honey’s support, I’ve finally gotten as comfortable as I can about seeing myself with no nipples.
    High beams. Now I face a totally different nipple dilemma … having nipples sticking straight out in full alert mode, forever  — like a car’s headlight button stuck on high beams. BOING! HELLO! HELLO!
    If I was still a 20-something brick house mama, no big deal I guess. But in my early 50’s? Walking around with permanent high beams is going to prove to be quite awkward.
    I’m anticipating ‘that’ look. The one from men, “Oh man, that retired pole dancer really let herself go.” From women, “Give it a rest, ya washed up hussy.”
    Maybe I should get a t-shirt made that has two little arrows pointing to my high beam nips that reads “Brought to you by Carcinoma In Situ.” Or some other ones that say, “New Boobs: Awkward Stares. Cancer Free: Priceless.” or “Go Ahead, Make My Honey’s Day … Be a Jerk About My Cancer Free Boobs” — maybe that would shut their brains up right off the bat?

    Earlier last month, when my plastic surgeon, Dr. S, got into explaining the nitty-gritty of the nipple reconstruction phase — or as I call it the “High Beam Surgery,” he used a medical term that instantly set my imagination afire. I mean instantly afire! I almost didn’t absorb much of anything else he said after he stated, “We’ll take an anchovy of cadaver skin and then wrap a flap of your own skin around the anchovy to create each of your nipples.”
    Anchovy? Yeah, yeah, I know it means a rolled up bit of skin to create bulk, but geesh, an anchovy? Couldn’t they have come up with a better medical term than THAT? My warped brain has been having a field day with that medical slang ever since — as well as my village that’s full of smartasses.
    “Your pizza’s never gonna taste the same you know.” “Are you gonna taste anchovies in everything you eat from now on?” “Are your nips gonna taste salty?” “Caesar Salad, again?” It goes on and on.
    I just pray that the newest sci-fi movie clip I saw flash in my brain this morning never comes to fruition.
    You know how in sci-fi movies about transplanted body parts, whether it be a hand, eyes, etc., they always seem to take on a life of their own? The transplantee ends up a hapless victim to the spirit of their transplanted new flesh. Mine is going to be freak’n anchovies!

    I can see it now, one day I’ll be grocery shopping in Sam’s Club … I pass by the refrigerated produce section. An uncontrollable craving for Caesar Salad will over take me. The earthy, salty, funky flavor of anchovies will wash over my palate and brain as my willpower wanes away. My body will tremble once the craving for Caesar Salad has consumed my soul.
    I spot the multi-packs of Romaine lettuce. My anchovy nipples slam me up against the refrigerator’s cold glass door, my dignity has faded into oblivion. Clutching the door handle, with a lustiness in my voice, I begin to recite the ingredients for my homemade Caesar Salad recipe … “Extra virgin olive oil, fresh lemon juice, a splash of Worcestershire sauce.” My knees buckle, you can hear the squeak of my face as it slides down the glass. “Boiled egg, Parmesan cheese!”

    Nearly out of breath, I collapse on the floor, panting and writhing, “Croutons! Yes! Yes! Croutons!!” Then in a crescendo of ecstasy I scream, “Croooutooons!!!”
    Yeah, my Dad has been expressing deep concern lately …”What bangs around in your head, kid, it’s downright frightening.” I don’t know why. I got the writing gene and warped imagination from him.
    Okay, time to toddle off to get my “Anchovy Nips” a.k.a. “High Beam” surgery done.

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