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Wednesday, 08 February 2012

Losing Things

By Stroppy

Do you lose or forget things these days? Do you walk into a room and say, “What did I come in here to get?” Frustrating isn’t it? Doctors, dentists and sundry appointments are so frequently forgotten, the IT world of today sends a reminder SMS or email, have you noticed?

Some years ago, my golfing buddy Jenny had bilateral mastectomies. She bit the bullet and accepted what had to be done, saying no to the perky boobs the reconstruction surgeon offered. Tattooed nipples and all.

One morning over a coffee and a chat, Jenny talked to me about her two external prosthesis. “I liked the new look she said, but 'hot n heavy' isn’t what it used to be! I was walking in my front door and before I had even kicked the shoes off, I was flinging the boobs off.”

And we both had a good laugh. But to Jen it was no laughing matter. I now get back to the topic: Losing Things.

Jen told me she was always losing her “boobs.”

“They would turn up in any part of the house, wherever I got the urge to fling them off,” she said. “I had to show them to the grandkids, Pam, in case they sat on them or found them kicked under the settee when they were playing hide and seek. I didn’t want them to get a fright.”

I just sat there smiling and nodding my head, Jenny has a way with words, I knew of old.

“You know Kane, he was only four years old then, was always asking me to show his friends when they visited with him. I had to refuse, didn’t I?” she laughed. “Could you imagine little Johnny going home and telling his Mummy, ‘Kane’s Grandma showed me her boobies!’”

“'Go on, Grandma,’” Kane would persist, she said. ‘they are really cool.’”

“You’re the only one who thinks so, mate,” she said she had muttered in reply. “He also would strut in the door on a hot day, take one look at me and say, ‘too hot for boobies today Grandma?'

“Belying the fact that Max regularly attempted to console me by saying, ‘no one notices if you haven’t got boobs, Jen.’ Well how come a four-year-old does! I would snap back,” she said.

‘Remember that day, Pam, when you rang me and we went to play golf, my first game after my chemo finished?”

“Yes,” I said, “we met down at my club, didn’t we?”

“Yes,” Jenny continued. “Well, I didn’t tell you I took my boobs off while I was waiting for you. Remember it was a warmish day? I hadn’t played with the new boobs on so wasn’t sure how it would be on a hot day so I took them off. Very deftly done, as if I had been doing it for years whilst sitting in the car,” she winked and grinned at me.

We had been friends for years; we knew each other well. I chuckled away as she went on.

“I wondered where to put them, so into the glove box they went. I really enjoyed being back out on the course with you, Pam, my first game back after nearly 14 months absence, what with the surgery and chemo.

“I was so excited when I got home to replay my game blow-for-blow or stroke-for-stroke to Max. I remember he was delighted I was back in the swing, ‘back to normal again!’ he said. And I remember snapping at him once again, 'What’s normal after cancer?'”

“The next morning,” the story continued, “I had an appointment, that I hadn’t forgotten, and after searching the house, I resorted to asking Max if he had seen my boobs anywhere.”

“He looked at me shaking his head yet again and said, ‘Well, what did you do yesterday’?

“This of course was great as I immediately remembered they were in the glove box. Too bloomin’ late, I realised I should not have blurted this out to Max, as he looked at me with less than amusement in his eyes and said once again, ‘Just what did you do yesterday, Jen?’”

I was laughing so much, she paused until I composed myself. She finally said, resignedly, “I’m sick of losing my boobs. They are strictly for formal occasions these days. Twelve years on, Pam, fair dinkum, there are more important things than boobies!”

Like trying to remember where you parked the car.

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