Boob Envy

"So we talked about how much you should set aside for the emergency fund, the college fund, and the retirement fund. Is there anything else you'd like to discuss today?" our financial planner asked.

My husband looked at me with that facetious grin he gets when he wants to embarrass me. With a big smile he said, "Jamie, wasn't there something else YOU wanted to talk to Sherry about?"

I shot him a death look and kicked him under the table. It was a simple warning that I would beat his ass in the elevator if he didn't shut his mouth.

"No. I think we covered everything. Thank you for the great advice," I said in my most professional tone.

We left the office and got into the elevator. I tried to kick his ass, but he was laughing at me and trying to grab my chest.

"I thought you wanted to set up a boob job fund," my husband said, clearly thinking he was so hilarious.

"Your an asshole," I replied laughing because it was pretty funny.

The truth is, after two kids my boobs are wrecked. I know this because I confirmed it with my best friend. We made a pact years ago to always be honest with each other. Even if the truth would hurt.

"They look like you put a handful of nickels in a tube sock," she said matter-of-factly after I flashed her. "It's too bad because they used to be so round and perky."

Yeah. That one stung a bit.

My recent obsession with boobs may be due to the fact that I will be turning 30 in a few months. I must be having a pre-mid-life crisis because I truly never used to be a vain person.

Lately I am vein on so many levels. Of most concern is my complete and utter obsession with boobs. I straight up have boob envy. I am like a creepy teenage boy- staring at boobs every chance I get. The grocery store. The mall. The pool.

When we had kids, I made my husband give up all his favorite magazine subscriptions. I'm no idiot. I know where he hid his favorites. And late at night when I can't sleep, I get out his old nudie mags. I study them and plan out my new boobs like an architecht. A little lift here. Some more stuffing there.

The other day I was at weight watchers and this lady was being recognized for losing 70 pounds. She had her two kids with her- ages 4 and 6- and was dressed for the gym. Everyone was asking her- How did you lose the weight? How do you find time to work out?

It was a Janie moment. I got very annoyed with the dumb questions. Who gives a shit about the weight loss and the damn gym.

What we need to know is- Who is her plastic surgeon? How much does he charge? How bad did it hurt? Do they give you awesome pain killers? And ... Where in the world did you find that amazing push up sports bra? I didn't even know they made those. I may start working out just so I have a reason to wear one.

Inspired, I went home and googled "breast lift with implants". The good news: the saggy sisters could be fixed. The bad news: it would cost approximately ten thousand freakin dollars. HOLY SHIT! We don't have the kind of money to save for emergency funds, college funds, retirements funds, and boob job funds.

So I decided to try and convince my husband that the boob job funding should come from the emergency fund. Afterall, in their current state, my tities qualify as an emergency.

When my husband got home from work I started showing him before and after photos. He was all about helping me pick out a new set of perfect silicone c's.It was the first time he didn't shoot down something with a price tag over fifty bucks!

"Wow! Look at those puppies," he said about a pair that were a little too porn star for my taste.

We were both so into the boob pictures, we didn't realize our two-year-old was listening to our discussion about what size rack I should get.

He dropped his toy cars, came running over to us and said, "I wan see pup bees!"

He truly thought we were looking at puppies. His face was so sweet and innocent.

That was the moment that I decided I needed to get over myself and my saggy old boobs. There are more important things in life. We need to save money for important things like college, family vacations, maybe some more precious kids.

I decided to put my boob envy behind me and work on kicking the vanity.

My husband snapped out of it as well. He's back to being the money police and freaking out when I buy anything over fifty bucks.

While I have come to terms with the fact that it's not reasonable- at least in our world- to drop ten grand on cosmetic surgery, I do believe it is ok to have dreams. Attainable dreams. Dreams that cost maybe 50 bucks a month between now and my 30th birthday ...

I have started my own little savings fund. If I am able to meet my savings goal it would be a nice little down payment on some botox!