Saturday, January 3, 2015


Dear Diary, 

     As I'm sure has been discussed in previous posts, I'd like to publicly announce that I am flat chested. In a recent visit to my parents' home in Texas, my dad lovingly looked my way and said "Lauren is like a pirate's dream". All puffed up and wondering what I did to receive such a random, sweet comment from my dad, I asked what he meant. "Because you have a sunken chest", he said, as he went back to eating his breakfast. It was one of those lip pursing moments where I nodded my head and squinted my eyes simultaneously as the room erupted in laughter. Thanks a lot, Dad. 

     Because of my frequency at the gym, I've been shedding some body fat. Unfortunately, my body is not an equal-opportunity fat loser, and though already a 34AA, it still feels the need to siphon the fat from the breast area. Thanks a lot, body. 

     My husband bought me a gift card to Victoria's Secret for Christmas. This was my opportunity to FINALLY find a bra that fit me correctly. (I've been known to shop in the tween section for bras.) The bra fitter confirmed my suspicion: My boobs were about as small as they come and therefore she brought me all of the absolute smallest bras she could find. Thanks a lot, bra fitter. 

     In trying on my bras, one of them pushed up the little fat that is left lying on top of my pectoral muscles and made this cute little hill of boob fat on both sides of my chest. Suddenly, I felt like a real woman. I could not believe I had cleavage. Was it real? Was I seeing things? This was a game changer. I bought the bra. 

     A couple of nights later, my husband and I went on a date. I made sure to have one extra button undone on my shirt. When he would talk to me, I'd say, "Excuse me, my boobs are down here..." showcasing my cleavage to him as if I was Vanna White. It was a proud moment for this flatty. 

     THEN, while we were belly-to-belly in our birthday suits, he gives my non-pushed up boobs a squeeze. This squeeze was a good one. It was firm. It was longer than normal, and it was extra squeezey. With a face full of excitement he says, "You've got some muscles in there, babe! No, really! You have some good pectoral muscles!" I felt defeated. Nothing screams "sexy" like your husband discovering muscles you've worked tirelessly to build in other areas, then finding them under your already nearly non-existent boobs during a moment of intimacy. Thanks a lot, lover. 

     Anyway, I turned into The Hulk, ate everything in sight, including my husband, and he lived happily ever the bottom of my belly. And my pectoral muscles continued to grow into rock solid awesomeness as my boob fat melted away. The End.


Me. Flatty McGee.