My First Fake Pair

All little girls pretend one of two things, if not both, during their countless hours of play:

they have hair like rapunzel

or

they have boobs at all

The hair is easy. Most homes have towels that, when wrapped just right, can provide a girl with locks just as good as any weave.

The boobs however are a little more difficult. You have to find two balls the same size that are small enough to fit into whatever outfit your mom picked out for the day. Tricky. I only had one attempt and it seemed to work beautifully. I used a Barbie beach ball on one side, and on the other…I don’t even remember now. But it was close enough in size not to fall out when I put both up my shirt.

I walked carefully, chest out, to the big dresser in my mom’s room where I could look into her large mirror and see how beautiful I looked. Just as I made my second shoulder swivel, my mother came into her room. Siblings in tow, everyone witnessed my obvious game. My mother, though smiling and surely suppressing some serious laughter, asked me the question that usually accompanies punishment. “Shamika, what are you doing?”

Head bowed, I did not answer. I quickly let the treacherous balls fall out of my top and hung my head in burning embarrassment. My mother then asked, “What are these? What were you doing with them?” I suppose in an attempt to figure out where my head was and how much I knew about the female, and perhaps the male, body. However, at this point, deep shame flooded my mind and I could say nothing, even if I wanted to answer.

I never played that game again. Like most black women, I stuck to playing with my hair.

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