“It's time for some new ones.”
That is the what Janet announced today at the local wives' club. And this statement sounds simple and practical and well thought out but it is so undeniably multilayered with—nay, piled with—meaning that I am just about to burst at my ever-slacking seams.
Janet meant her boobs.
Here is a short list of the more pressing things that were acknowledged by Janet's statement:
First: Janet has boobs—and of course she does. Anatomically she has boobs expressed as a secondary female characteristic. We all do. Some more than others but we, as women, have them. But what I mean to say is Janet really has them. I mean this is a woman who turns profile and people take stock. Three kids, too. Three and they—the boobs—were still where one would want them to be placed, ideally, in relation to the other parts of her body. The things have perk. There had been whispers among the wives' club that perhaps Janet had been given a little “help” if you will. Maybe a push-up bra—that more refined version of toilet paper filling that was all the rage in middle school. But this theory was steadily disproven with each successive trip to the beach (the dressing rooms). The boobs fill the bra by themselves. Then, as you might expect, the question had become, but what fills the boobs? Because they are full. Quite so for a woman with the condition of three children, mid thirties, human. The thing is, we've all known Janet for so long and they've always been there. We saw her through her last pregnancy. Her boobs have always been strong. So there is no reason to believe that they may have had a little surgical enhancement aside from that sort of karmic acknowledgement that in the world we know these things don't happen. Because the world is not perfect, see. And Janet's boobs are. So the wives' club has been quietly left wondering through the years under the working assumption that it would likely be rude just to ask. Wouldn't it? I'm still not sure. The media asks celebrities every day. Not directly of course. It seems more like they throw out the accusation on a tabloid cover and then sit back in glee while the tendrils of blood curl and stink in the water. It is celebrity death, isn't it? Having work done. Meg Ryan. Bruce Jennings. Heidi Montag. Or is it? Because surely they're all doing something. A little something, somewhere. Maybe the death is in being caught? And that's why we were all so shocked when Janet announced it. Because she announced that it was “time for some new ones”, sure, but first she said, “The implants these days are more cutting edge than they were when I got them.”
Second: Not all breast implants are equal. Of course we know this, right? We all know this because we've all been at the beach or at one of those gyms that people actually work out or maybe we've been dragged (after five too many cocktails) to a strip club because we wanted to pretend like we were one of the boys. Or maybe that was just me. Maybe that's another thing the wives' club collectively agrees not to admit—assuming any other members have engaged in this sort of activity. But is it an anything goes policy now over there? Can I address this at the next meeting? Can I say, “Ladies, now that Janet has openly discussed her breast implants, I'd like to move that we also discuss a certain drunken foray I once made into a strip club.” But I'm getting off track. The point is that Janet has one type of breast implant, and she would like a different one. Simple logic would lead one to conclude that this is a quality control measure. When asked to elaborate she explained that at the time that she got them, silicone breast implants were off the market, and so she went with saline breast implants. Saline is just salt water. Safe when popped, is how I understand it. But now silicone is back on and they feel better, supposedly. But are not as safe when popped? Or weren't, but are now? Or presumably maybe just don't pop? I once heard of a woman who went rock climbing and fell a few stories and broke the ribs underneath her implants but the breast implants remained intact. I also once heard of a woman who was saved by her breast implants in a car accident when the airbag failed at its one big moment to shine. But is that urban legend? It feels like it might be. This is definitely urban legend—I once heard of a woman who survived a sinking ship on account of her breast implants. Why are these stories so entertaining to pass along? We are fascinated by them.
Third: Janet might have been a stripper. I am absolutely sure this is an off-limits question at the wives' club, but I've done the math and if the silicone ban was lifted in 2001, then wouldn't that make Janet around twenty when she got them? How do twenty-year-olds afford breast implants? Is this a pressing question anymore? Does this mean she was able to breast feed her children with breast implants? I saw her do it. Certainly that's what this means. Is it bad to have children and breast implants at overlapping times in one's personal history? I can't get a good grasp of what society truly cares about.
Fourth: Clearly what they don't care about is whether one has had breast implants at a point in her life when she is young and attractive. It seems to be the one thing women are given a pass on in the plastic surgery department. Especially at the point where a woman like Janet announces it as if she's thinking about buying a new pair of shoes. “It's time for some new ones.” This is a light statement meant for light things. Are breast implants light things now? I think Pamela Anderson made them light things. Maybe Baywatch made them light things. Not physically speaking, of course. Physically speaking they look rather heavy compared to the frames of those women. But I digress. My point is that they—breast implants—became open discussion back then, maybe. And then what was trending in Hollywood maybe just took its natural course through time before it became commonplace in the real world? Or are women just open about it because it cannot be hidden? A breast implant is noticeable, if one is intimate enough with the wearer, no? They can be grabbed and proven to be a little firmer than the expected globulous grouping of fat cells if one is lucky enough to have had her fat collect in just this one place. Especially the saline ones. At least that is the information that Janet imparted upon the wives' club. She said something about gummy bears. That there are breast implants that feel like gummy bears and are so real under the muscle that one hardly knows. Can this be true? And then she talked about under the muscle and over the muscle, because there is a choice for the wearer. Under the muscle is more, what? “invasive”, did she call it? But more natural looking. Over the muscle is easier but more prone to that strange rippling that one maybe associates with bad boob jobs if one (hypothetically) has had five too many cocktails and breached the threshold of the local strip club. Hypothetically speaking. And ripples are even less ideal than sag, in my opinion. But Janet had insight on that, too. Ripples come from saline and from the breast implant being too large for the wearer. Silicone doesn't do this. Or, should I say, not as much. Not if the surgeon knows when to stop in the size department. Not if the subject is realistic about exactly how much breast implant room she may be harboring. Not if things go right. And a good plastic surgeon should make things go right. Janet is a veritable trove of breast implant information.
All of the above concepts were gathered from such a simple statement: Janet would like to get new breast implants. It was a fascinating study of human behavior, I think, the way the wives' club started with halting, polite questions at first and then became more brazen as information was offered up freely. And we had questions. So many questions. Do they hurt, for one. Somehow no, she says. She used such words as “nerve blocks” and “general anesthesia.” I suppose this makes sense, if you think about it. How much pain could really get past a nerve block? Morphine isn't even that effective, and isn't there a quote that goes something like, “Morphine is a hell of a drug”? Or am I now confusing my pop-culture references? Is the quote“Cocaine is a hell of a drug?”
I am maybe too sheltered to keep my jokes straight.
I have two children. My cool-factor has grown to reflect that.
Regardless. It's no reason not to have great boobs. We asked Janet, “But what about after the surgery?” The post-surgery. The weeks when one is supposed to have a free pass to sit around on the couch and be waited on and not questioned or expected to perform her normal duties? What about that? And Janet said it's not any more pain than the soreness of a heavy workout. I hate workouts, but I do them. And it's not the post-workout soreness that gets me, it's the during-workout that feels like death on wheels. I wonder if they have over-the-counter nerve blocks for gym-goers? This I could do with.
Scarring—we asked about scarring. Where the scars are. What the options are. Numbness? Strange feelings? Nipple sensitivity? These are pressing questions, are they not? She said she had a slight curve of a scar along the areola. There had been numbness for a couple of years on one side. I ask myself whether it's worth it. I've had twins. Two small humans have sucked the life out of my breasts in a simultaneous fashion. For eighteen months they were nonstop and like magic I could not only regain what I had but come out with a better version—Ashley's Breasts 2.0—all for the low cost of some gym-type soreness and some possible numbness. Six weeks, technically. And six weeks of off-time, physically speaking. No gyms or skydiving. That sounds nice. I live for reasons to avoid gyms. And skydiving. But then I wonder if six weeks of a perfectly sedentary life would maybe add a sort of unappealing padding in unappealing places? These are the fears that drive me to gyms. Could I afford six weeks off for the superficially noble cause of boobs?
Why am I even thinking about this for myself?
It is Janet who should be the one thinking about this. Janet who will have the newer, better boobs than the already amazing ones she has today. Janet who must choose whether the surgeon cuts in through the nipple or the armpit or below the breast. Science! What a strange world we live in where one can acquire perfectly lovely boobs through an armpit! But still I find myself asking the questions. Where would I want the plastic surgeon to go through, if given the choice? Certainly not underneath the breast, no? I think there are urban legends about the hack jobs involved with that raised ugly smile of a scar that surgeons have left under the breast. Or maybe I'm having strip club flashbacks. Even hypothetically I would not allow a surgeon to cut straight under the breast. Or are things just better these days? Is it just a matter of finding the right plastic surgeon? Because Janet is talking about going under the breast this time around—through the "inframammary fold", she called it—and when she said it I cringed and she smiled. Because technology and skill is so much more advanced than it was fifteen years ago. Ten years ago. Last year. Because modern science says this is the way now.
And why am I even thinking about this hypothetically?
Maybe because Janet seems so sure of herself. Maybe because she has always been the most confident among us and maybe because I'm looking back through the years and wondering if it is all due to her breasts. “What a step back for feminism,” the politically correct part of me wants to say. But I don't have to be politically correct in the privacy of my own thoughts. I am female and females think about this. Females think about every last thing they would change about their bodies, and breasts are very often at the top of that list. Some don't see a problem with simply fixing what bothers them. Whether that is concealer on blemishes or something as determined as elective surgery—we're all fixing ourselves. We all feel more confident when we are showing the face to the world that we want it to see. That's what Janet does every day—she puts her best self forward. And of course she has plenty of reasons to be confident—better and deeper reasons—that don't involve the size of her breasts. But in clothes she is confident. I remember the freedom of that feeling. It was five years ago, right before I got pregnant. Then again it's an expensive lifestyle—shopping because one likes the look of clothes on her body and not from the mere necessity that society imposes by requiring we engage in it clothed. Not that I'm not grateful. It would be a terrible world that expected me to casually venture out without clothes.
I wonder if Janet feels this way?
Too, I wonder what she feels when she lies on her stomach? Can I ask her this? I should have thought to ask her this. We go tanning at the beach. It's not a thing I would say with any authority that she necessarily avoids. But does it feel different?
But here is the big question—the one that Janet can't answer: What would my husband think? This is the question that matters. And so I raised it casually over dinner. A hypothetical. A sort of, haha what if? And of course he said no—that I don't need them. He's very supportive and loving and all of those desirable things, my husband. So of course he said no. But he used that particular brand of tone he uses when he's dieting and I offer him dessert.