My Butterfly Shirt was fly.

I'm about 11 years old.  Family getting ready for a drive in the mountains with some friends.  I'm getting dressed...look down and thought, "Jesus Christ!  What is THAT?"

Two small lumps...One of each side of my chest.  A tumor?  What the hell was it...I screamed for my mom who came running into my bedroom...I stood there pointing to my chest and asked, "Does this look strange? "  She looks at me like I'm a complete moron and says, "Trina, your chest* is growing.  It's natural.  Oh, and your sister needs her hair done.  Can you help out?"

Nice of her to keep me in the puberty loop....

She walked out of my room and my emotions went from panic to exuberance over my new 'boobs'...Boobs so tiny they counted really as marbles.  But whatever.  I knew just what I needed to wear to show them off.

I searched my drawers for a tired looking 'hand me down' shirt.  Navy blue..crew neck..long sleeved...with a gold stitched monarch butterfly on front.  Why I thought this shirt was grade A for showing off my boobs is beyond me.  For some reason as I glanced in the mirror puffing out my chest, I was convinced my new assets were showing through...

Not in a naked way, mind you.  Just in  "Look at these small lumps" kind of way.

Maybe I felt the shirt captured my transformation...formerly a boobless caterpillar who overnight morphed into a beautifully developed butterfly.  Fancy.  Free.

I walked through the Rocky Mountains that day keeping my posture extra straight.  You know...so people could see my boobs.

A butterfly shirt.  What the fuck...

See ya!


(*Chest = 'Boobs' in my mother's lexicon.)