I need you to love my right boob

Here I am, standing in the mirror as I left my shower running. It is official, my boobs are sisters. One big, one small. My right boob is particularly small tonight.

Noticing your smaller boob is not for the weak minded. Once you notice "the boob," there is no going back. Suddenly you become a massage therapist and start pulling and stretching the boob as if that helps. Mine resides on the right. My right boob may be your left boob. They say "the boob" is most likely to be on your dominant side. It's a right-hand-left-hand-kind-of-a-situation. Your other hand has the function of a baby sister--a toddler who barely holds a fork while your dominant hand is the big sister who graduated with double majors and knows how tough life can be (they've been through). But next to the big sister, there is my right boob, the quiet and pretty one of the boob sisters. My left boob is the hot one, the fun and wild, the sister with a perfect messy bun.

When I realized my right boob is now more noticeably smaller, the panic came right back at me. The first time I saw the different growth, I suppressed my insecurity by presenting a sentimental, philosophical value--that it is a byproduct of my dominant hand's labor. The harder I work, obviously my right boob will get smaller. That's the math. Or that was the math by a 5th grader. But here I am, a soon-to-be-twenty-five, annoyed and frustrated, aggressively pulling her right boob from the armpit to see if this is just an error by gravity. Let her enjoy the stage of denial.

Your hand dominance can dictate your boob size. Of course, according to the search engine, there may be other driving factors: genetics, hormones, and posture. "People also ask" about the solutions for uneven breasts. Ladies, we have three solutions: 1. external prosthesis, 2. breast reduction, 3. breast implant. Thanks, Google. Fabricating your natural flaws might be a modern family's favourite activity. Minimizing your flaws that will tear you away from the mainstream is constantly shoved into our brains. The "You're beautiful as you are" slogan is tainted by the mainstream. Nonetheless, the emergence of micro-influencers awfully contributed to this tragedy. With their not-so-intimidating looks and close-to-normal-but-slightly-better lives, the micro-influencers sneakily plant the idea of flawless imperfections. And the uneven set of boobs is one of the victims. We talk about itty bitty titty and stacked troops but never the uneven sisters. The uneven boobs are more of like an inside joke. We hold a private discourse about this one. I openly share my concern with my girls, but the shared concern must die with the coven. However, I can guarantee that anyone with a pair of sisters has the insight to contribute to the right boob party.

I don't blame you to have a favorite boob. However, I strongly suggest you never make it obvious. The other boob has a feeling too, you know. Especially when it comes to your lover's. It's not being offensive--none taken--alas, I want you to love the imperfect me. It was never about the boob. It was the unpolished version of myself yearning for unconditional love. It was the hope to be adored even when my imperfections go noticed. Not only my fun side, but also my broken, annoying, and maybe a little blue side when the strength is no longer there to hold up the guards and maybe when I want to share more of a real piece of myself with you. It was never about a boob.

The illusion of reality consumes you, and it reproduces every time you consume the illusion. The biblically accurate mainstream is the representative of the general population, AKA: the majority. The real catch is: it is not. Here the illusion lies. The power group hand-selects the standard for the general population. The individuals must keep up with the standard each time. Perfect products for imperfect consumers. It was never about a boob.