I used to be as flat as a pancake. While all the other girls secretly loved seeing the vague outline of their first bra through their blue school shirts, I was still sporting an M&S thermal vest. It was hell, and every night, without fail, I’d pray that I’d wake up with enough boobs to fill even an AA cup! Things hit an all-time low in Year Nine when I took to wearing a very stretchy elastic around my back so that there was something there that the boys could twang! Needless to say the only twang I felt was searing pain, having endured that tight elastic for seven long hours. In a nutshell, I was a violin-playing, ‘boobless’ geek. While some of the more ‘developed’ girls in Year Nine were complaining of sore boobs after netball practice (although, clearly exaggerating) I was only concerned with whipping my age 11–14 vest on and off quick enough in the changing rooms so that nobody would see my childlike body.
My boobs were late, as were my periods. I was stuck in perpetual girlhood waiting for life to begin. Then it happened. One beautiful morning at the end of June, circa 1994, a week or two after our GCSEs, I woke up and there they were. Two wonderful, fully grown breasts. I was officially a woman. Along came a well-needed dose of confidence and a posture change. There they were, two new friends who I’d waited so long for. And they grew and grew and grew. It was like the biggest ‘boob explosion’ of all time. I was finally blessed with a lovely pair of 30Es that I’ve treasured and loved dearly ever since. These days, they’re not quite as pert as they once were, but we are working together to resist the pull of gravity. They’re wrapped in a supportive sports bra during exercise, moisturised on a daily basis to try and ward off any stretch marks and ensconced comfortably in pretty underwear on my more organised days. They were a long time coming, but I’ve loved them every day since they arrived. They signalled becoming a woman and together, we have had a pretty exciting journey.