My breasts - the enemies I carry with me every day.
I've got another twenty years or so with these forward-facing appendages - time enough to suckle babies, I hope; time enough to lure their future father into my lair, I pray.
It will start small - the little lump that tells me the enemy has aw0ken.
Our feud goes back generations. This is the same foe that killed my grandmother and scarred my mother.
Maybe in another ten years, when I have my own family to live for - a child for whom to set an example - maybe then I will actually get serious about my 'monthly' self exams. Ten years - that will give me ten years of practice before C-Day, right?
Of course, I'm really hoping for a cure, hoping that I'll never have to get serious about my sleeping enemy. That's why I don't do monthly breast exams - it would be like losing faith.
What I really need to get serious about is finding a man - one who will love me boobless. You know, a leg man.
--Abigail Davis
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