Be careful what you wish for

I’m pretty short. Not Danny Devito short, but definitely shorter than most people. But before I was about 14 or 15, I was really tiny for my age. To give you an idea, I remember going to secondary school and being 5 stone (about 31 kilos or 70 lbs, depending on where you’re reading this) and not being able to find school shoes in a size 13. My brother’s female school friends used to ask if they could pick me up like I was their child (not that unlikely in South Wales). I was also really flat-chested.

I, like many young girls, discovered that there was a thing called Plastic Surgery when I was about 12 and I would list the things that I would get. I would fix the scars on my face from falling through a glass table as a child, I would get bone implants to be taller (hey, I was 12) and, of course, I would have breast implants.

In secondary school I can vividly remember stuffing my bra with tissue to appear like I had even the hint of a bosom. One day, one of the popular (tall, beautiful and buxom, of course) girls started asking me aloud in the middle of a free lesson if I’d ever stuffed my bra, did I know anyone who did, etc. I was so mortified. At the time I had a boy friend(but not a boyfriend) who took me to one side and explained that because I had used the peach toilet roll from our house (coloured toilet roll was all the rage in the 90s) you could see it poking out of my bra through my school shirt. I’ve never forgotten that day (evidently) and it seems funny to think now that I’ll probably get that boob job after all. Not quite what I had imagined when I was 12 years old but life has a funny way of working out sometimes, I guess.

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