Boob Cups & Sandbags

Too many things bubbling to the surface this week, so we’ll touch two topics briefly!

Boob Cups

Early June always reminds me of the summer of 1967 at Sheridan Swim Club. I was a budding twelve year old; that time in life between child and young adult. Frustratingly, your mind and body can’t pick a lane. Mom bought me a brown & pink dotted Swiss bikini. An apron was velcroed under my wannabe-bust, in case I wanted to cover the stomach. The bra was slightly padded. Seems like an unremarkable memory, right? It was. Until I overheard this freshman, Patti say, “Did you guys see Bobbe’s Big Boob Cups?!?!” OH MY DOTTED-SWISS SAVIOR! I was mortified. Were they THAT ginormous? Did my boob cups surface before surface in the water before the rest of me? 

She was poking fun at me. And I’d bet my bottom dollar that if she poked one of my boob cups, it would dent, because you can’t fool Mother Busture. And they wonder why young girls struggle with their bodies…  To this day, when I try on swimsuits, my eyes go right to the boob cubs. Do we ever heal from snide remarks? Not fully, no. Be kind when commenting. A vulnerable person may be within earshot. Possibly boob shot, which is what I wanted to do with both boob cups.

Sandbags

On a totally unrelated topic, the National Guard showed up Saturday to help make and distribute sandbags. If unfamiliar, bags help shore up river levees to keep rivers in their banks. The need was great; 130,000 bags requested on JUST Sunday. And I couldn’t help. I’d overachieved edging the yard by opting for a $24.95 shovel (19.95 with ACE coupon).

Maybe it was the repetitive jumping on the shovel, bending over to scoop dirt or to realign our 12” sidewalk stones. YouTube made hand edging look like easy. Plus, I was a physical beast, so why not? Ohhhhhh, I don’t know. Because I’m 63 11/12? Because I’ve never done it before? YouTube lied. As for my shovel, I’d like to shove the shovel up ACE Hardware shovel manager’s keister. Or maybe shove some common sense into my head. Hundred’s of physical therapy dollars later, I’m recovering, slowly.  Grrrrrrrr.

Instead, I volunteered at the check-in desk last Sunday, to help. It was fun. The city lifted the age limit. Children of all ages could help with parents or guardians. There were baseball clubs, church groups and gobs of families. Adults with children had designated sand piles so they wouldn’t interfere with the heavy duty sand baggers. I mean, kids will be kids…  “He threw sand on me!”  “I’m hot!” “It’s so hard.” “I’m done!” You know, the same thing the adults are thinking, but powering through it all. But, God bless them, they helped! No matter if they shoveled a teaspoon of sand or a mountain, they helped. And that’s where community pride begins.

Last night, I helped the Salvation Army serve the Guardsmen dinner at Quincy University. Again, it was fun to help. And these men and women are so darn appreciative and respectful. When the call arises, please answer your community. You’ll not want a minute of it back. Hey, wait, maybe I could fill the boob cups with baby sandbags…   Oh, this brain. BW