I have the biggest boobs in my class. I still remember those summer afternoons I spent running around my neighborhood with them flapping around in the wind, all of the girls staring at me in envy. Thank god for those tight little child undershirts, I'm sure they've saved me from losing an eye or two. My mom bought me a sports bra back in grade 8, it worked wonders but my girlfriend didn't think that was too hot. By the time the time she had told all of her friends and they told all of their friends, and so on I'd gone from future star lineman to a dork in a bra. I haven't worn it since, but that was the last date I've had in 2 years.
Confused? Thought so. You probably assumed I was some voluptuous babe. Unfortunately I don't just have the biggest boobs. I also would win for roundest arms, most chins, and my belly is only rivaled by the jolly old elf himself. To put it bluntly, I�m a little chubby. Fine, that�s not blunt but you get the point. My name�s Clyde, not Claudia, yes I know, a mother named a child Clyde in the 20th century; they always were a little backwards.
I kind of wish they were still backwards, people didn't divorce back in 1874. It was back in grade 6. Looking back it was no real shock; the fights over nothing, the awkward silences... I guess it had been brewing for years, but by then I'd just assumed that they would just fight forever, but they didn't. They broke up.
My dad moved out to Regina, don't ask me why. Maybe he enjoys rolling fields of grass... my mom always said he was a pothead. Regardless, he lives on the wrong side of both of the tracks. I visit him every summer but he's not the same anymore. After the divorce he apparently stopped shaving and bathing and started taking in stray cats. I imagine Regina has hundreds of lonely children with lonely cats. They let them out to play and the cats follow the smell of rotting flesh to my dad's house. It's only once they�re "adopted" that they realize that all that was dead is my dad. He's still breathing but he lives the life of a dead man.
It was after Dad left that I started baking. I guess it was more out of necessity than anything. I'd survived the first 12 years of my life eating whatever Dad cooked up. Believe me, I had to. My mom is a little... creative in the kitchen and by creative I mean knowing lots of ways to make food taste like dog crap. So I started making delicious baked goods... tarts, pies, fresh gooey cookies... I'll be right back, I think I'm going to make some more.
Mmm... you got to love chocolate macadamia. Honestly I used to be skinny. I was tall, gangly, with stretchy skin but now my skin isn't so much stretchy as it is stretched. Back when I was scrawny Mom always told me I would fill out one day, and boy was she right. In about 2 years my body, once an empty shell, filled up to the brim with a gel-like substance which for the sake of science I will refer to as cellulite (I imagines its been forcing itself out of my pores as well.) Sure it may not have been attractive, but it did have some bright sides: I was a little more ominous now that I was a hulking mass and if I ever got in a fight then damn was I padded. However as I got... larger, somehow I got cooler. I had become a football player.
Now that's not saying I could actually play, but I was big. I think people just assumed that now that I was fat I'd automatically pick up how to be on the d-line. I started getting picked for teams. Sure I could hardly run, but damn, could I block. I was the first choice for goalie and pretty much everything where I could stand in one place and cover large areas. Boy was I good at that. I fell into a new crowd, the jocks. I once was a nerd. I was skinny, with glasses, and somehow my dentist had not only given me braces but headgear as well. But now my braces were off, I just had to wear headgear at night, and I had more rolls than a bakery. Doesn�t sound like a recipe for coolness, does it but people who wouldn't even look at me before suddenly became my new best friends. They thought I was funny, and Angela Thatcher, a girl I'd been practically in love with since I was about 11 started going out with me. It was awesome. It wasn�t all great, I got to know my room really well that year, but it was definitely worth every day I spent grounded. It was only after I�d lost it all that I realized that the jokes everyone thought were so funny were on me.
What followed will forever be remembered, as �The Bra Incident.� I was on a date with Angela. I think we were at some cheesy romantic comedy, but honestly I couldn�t tell you which, I was to busy ogling the chesty lead to notice the plotline too much. Before I describe what happened next I think I should tell you a bit about Angela. She was hot, and her bosom was almost as well developed as mine (don�t worry, in the weeks I spent baking after the breakup I more than passed her,) and that�s about all there was too her. For her sake we�ll just say that their wasn�t to much going above her neck (don�t worry, its metaphor-ish, she won�t understand.) Her vocabulary was not very well developed, and she often mixed up words. After months of her calling my favorite band �The Beagles� I had to correct her. However, obviously I was wrong.
�Who would name a band after bugs? That�s just like� benevolent.�
I told that she meant malevolent.
�Whatevah,� (she never said it with an �r�), �Its just icky. They must be like, stupid or something.�
So yes, she wasn�t the brightest bulb in the bulb basket (sorry I�m trying really hard to make good metaphors, they�re quite difficult,) but she was hot and I didn�t care. I liked her (in body at least,) and she liked me enough to not dump me. That was why I was so shocked when it happened. It was after the movie, and I was at her door. Now you have to remember this is 8th grade dating, we can't drive. My mom was waiting in the car rooting me on, and her parents were sneakily pressing their faces against the glass with the curtains wide open. It was pretty romantic; unfortunately not romantic enough for me to get any tongue, instead I got a lovely hug and then it happened.
"Oh my god! You're a transversal!" Angela screamed as she leapt away from me.
I didn't know what happened at first. I was pretty confused, why was Angela screaming out geometry terms? Did she even know any? It was then I realized what had happened; transvestite was a big word and I had a sports bra on. My "cellulite" that had brought me so much, had just taken it all away.
Its funny how one trip to the ladies end of Sport Chek can make such a difference in how people look at you. Did what I wear really make me who I was? Do our clothes hide our true selves or are our outward appearances all that make us who we are? I had a lot of time to think about this after the incident. Nobody wanted to hang out with "bra guy," it was like when I broke up with Angela I had broken up with everyone I knew.
So through my life I've learned a lot. I've learned about family, about friends, and love, but above all myself. Sure I'm not perfect, but really who is? And frankly, what other guy can say that he's a boobman... in more ways than one.
