Dear Boob

Dear Boob,

In a time of uncertainty with this  EU referendum Schizzle where we are now considering the possibility of CIF returning to JIF,  bananas going bendy again and wondering if we will now have to call 'Magic Stars'  'Supernatural Pentagrams', our future is somewhat unclear....what a shocker! An 'unclear future' is something we all face, everyday and will always face because no one has a crystal Ball. (Or Cubic zirconia sphere)

I tell you one thing that is certain Boob, tomorrow you are leaving me. 

I've known you since I was about 12. I remember being an 11 year old. I had a lot of puppy fat (my brother called it Great Dane fat as there was so much). I had a ginger Bob and shoulders about a hundred metres wide....I was pretty tall and yeah I basically looked like a prop on the English rugby team. 

So I remember asking for you. I wanted you to be large, you and your twin. I had great hopes for how you would turn things around for me in the looks department. 

Then you arrived and you were everything I hoped for. I went from butch school girl to Heidi with the big boobs. 

As the years progressed you got me into nightclubs, underage. You got me free drinks, 5th place in a wet t.shirt competition (I think there were 6 of us in the event) and basically gave me some well needed confidence. 

Later on down the line, you nourished my children, grew longer and sustained 5 months of being bitten repeatedly by Tait until I could only feed him from the other side. I somethings wonder if Taits biting was telling me something.... Was he warning me that all was not well with you? That you were ill? That something was attacking you from the inside. That Cancer was ravishing you. 

You began to change. 

You weren't that happy go lucky boob you'd been up until this point. You became red and angry. You grew and grew. You weren't lumpy which is why I never suspected anything sinister was happening. The Drs said you were fine when I took you to see them. So we carried on. Towards the end your nip started to retreat and your surface looked like an orange. I took your back to the Drs for the 3rd time and we discovered that in fact your were very poorly. I was told from the beginning that you would have to leave at some point. 

And that point is tomorrow.

So I'm left wondering what I should do on my last day with you. Let's be honest you haven't aged well so I'll not be showing you off to people. If a builder shouted to me "show me your tits" I'd literally just have to lift up the hem of my trousers. 

You are covered in stretch marks to the point that if I found myself lost in London I could consult you for a central line train to Walthamstow.

When I lie down, you gracefully slide under my armpit. 

So really today is just another day. I will take my children out to play and spend time with them. As always. 

I'm just wondering if I'll miss you? I think I'll miss the memories we made together but actually you serve no purpose anymore. I know that Scouse loves me with or without you. I know that my children won't even notice that you've gone and I know that you simply can't stay because you're killing me. 

I know it's not your fault. You didn't want this, but it's happened. 

There are many things in life that happen that we don't want, that we fear. Then they happen. 

What do you do? 

You have to deal with it because quite frankly what other option do you have? 

So I'm sorry but you have to go. 

My friends from school who have known you your whole life, threw you a going away party last night. We met at the curry house ( if you watch sons of anarchy this is akin to that table where they make all their important team decisions and discuss important issues) and they bought me this amazing blanket with loads of our pictures on it. 

I cried.

Then at the end of the meal, out comes one of the chaps singing happy birthday!!! 

Anna is shouting "no no it's not her birthday....it's for something else....um it's a cake for ummm she's ill and ummm it's not her birthday". 

I'm cracking up at this point as I'm thinking how do you sing 'goodbye right tit la la la you're being chopped off la la la' . 

The chap starts mumbling something about 'keeping it in the box as not to upset the other customers.' I'm wondering why on earth it would offend anyone, when two huge tits with candles in are plonked in front of me. 

The nipples are massive!!!! Gemma says 'oh look they're just like my nipples', to me they look like witches hats. It was brilliant! The girls are all laughing and so am I. We discuss what people might think about what we are celebrating and whether people would consider them terrible friends. On the contrary, they are incredible. 

This is exactly what I would want, and exactly how we all are. 

This is why they are my friends.

I then proceeded to cut up the right boob and dish it out to everyone. We all eat it, together, as a team. 

I've never felt alone at a point of this shit-uation and that is largely down to the friends and family I have. 

What a perfect way to say goodbye to you boob. 

And I actually think you appreciated it too. 

Tomorrow I will lie down and look to my right armpit and see you for the last time. Then I will go to sleep and when I wake up you'll be gone. Every part of you. And what will be left is a scar that is curved. The scar will look just like a smile, they said. 

Oh the irony. 

But when I look in the mirror and see that place you used to be, I will think of all the great things you did for me and I'll smile right back.