The Booby Trap and Other Bits and Boobs Read Online Free PDF Page B

finished panto, was doing shifts on the Loose Women panel and had just booked a week in Miami. Everything was tickety boob, Loose Women had even been nominated for an NTA – a National Television Award, no less! All I had to do was sort out some kind of ensemble/frock for the bash, but I had a week to shop. There was no rush.
    Then the letter came. The mammogram result was suspect, and I needed further investigation. They gave me a date to come back and get checked out. It was scheduled for when we were in Miami.
    I phoned the hospital to explain, expecting them to say that when I got back from the States would be cool. They didn’t – they said I should be seen before I went; in fact I should be seen by the end of the week, Then they said that if further ‘exploration’ found something more sinister then Miami could possibly be off the agenda as I might require immediate treatment.
    Some things make you go cold, they make you go clumsy, they make your head feel like it’s underwater and you can’t hear properly. I felt sick all the way down to my knees.
    I told my partner and I told my daughter and I told my sister. I didn’t tell anyone else and I couldn’t be bothered to buy a new frock for the NTAs which were being held at the O2 arena the night before I was due to be thoroughly X-rayed. I did however decide that going to the awards would be a welcome distraction and cobbled together a last-minute outfit from the back of my wardrobe. It wasn’t great – it involved a silver dress and a vintage coat and some snot-green tights, which I thought gave the outfit a Tilda Swinton twist but just looked a bit mad. I went to the O2 with all the other Loose Women (we didn’t win) and at the end of the night when I couldn’t find my cab to come home, I may have done some swearing and foot stamping in the car park – but really I was just very frightened of the morning.
    My sister came to King’s College Hospital with me. She made me walk – I’d have got the bus but she was right, it is only three stops from my house.
    An hour later we were walking home – correction, I was skipping. The lump was a collection of tiny water-filled cysts – very common, we were told. Huzzah! Never has south London looked more beautiful, never have my nearest and dearest been more relieved, never have I looked forward to a holiday more … Miami we were on our way.
    A week or so later, we were at Heathrow. Browsing through the magazines in WHSmith I spotted a headline which screamed, ‘Worst Dressed Celebs at the NTAs’! And there I was, lumpy in my vintage coat, non-matching scarf and saggy snot-green tights. All I needed to complete the mad bag woman look was a pram full of cats and some rubbish.
    As I looked at that photo and I remembered the worry and the upset and the gut-wrenching fear, I realized I couldn’t give a shit about these bitchy magazines with their horrible stupid lists. Me and my tits were off to Miami, and I laughed all the way to the plane.

SOPHIE ELLIS-BEXTOR
    Boobs. In the words of the Bloodhound Gang, hooray for boobies.
    I have two. They are OK. Not amazing, but not terrible. I have hoisted them in bras, fed three babies with them, wished they were bigger and felt them for lumps, because lumps are the serious side of boobs. My grandma died of breast cancer when I was eleven. I still miss her now.
    When I was asked to write about my relationship with my breasts I was a bit perplexed. I love them and yet, it’s complicated. Like most girls I have not always reacted in a positive way to my boobs. When I was about ten or eleven the first girls in my class began ‘developing’, as we called it, and began needing to buy their first bras. I found most of the process mortifying. Cuddling my parents was harder as the new existence of a chest came between us figuratively and literally. I felt I was betraying them by not being a little