Many, many, many years ago, I was an awkward feeling teenager with a highly suspect relationship with my body. I was in boarding school, and I had been a chubby pre-teen, then grew into a yo-yo teenager, chubby/skinny/chubby/skinny. While the rest of my body fluctuated, the one thing that didn’t was my boobs. They were tiny and…snoopy-shaped. More like protuberances than breasts, flattened and triangular, my two closest friends in the dorm lovingly nicknamed me “Dog-Nips”, because they looked like a mother dog who had recently had a litter of puppies. Dog-Nips. I was 15.
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