We’re all friends here. So, I have a confession. I want to have an areola reduction. Why? Because my areolas too big, silly. They are what are called “salad plate nipples.” Yup, this is really a thing. Do you wanna know how I know? Well, a girlfriend told me, of course.
Picture this: You’re sitting in the Olive Garden sipping a glass of reasonably priced Moscato when your never-ending salad arrives, along with of course—salad plates. Then, out of nowhere, your homegirl from way back announces that “I’m going to get my nipples done!”
“What you talkin’ `bout, Willis?” you respond.
“I have salad-plate nipples. They’re embarrassing and I’m getting them done.”
“What the hell are salad plate nipples? And why pray-tell would you want to get your nipples ‘done’? Why does this exist? Aye Dios mio. ”
“Yeah. Its like, when you’re nipple area is like the size of a salad plate. It’s really unattractive and it honesty disgusts me. I found a guy in Columbia that will do it for cheap.”
That night, dinner conversation was monopolized by me attempting to convince my misguided friend that an areola reduction was stupid. However, the whole time I felt like a fraud, hypocrite and all that jazz. All I really wanted to do was get home, strip down and assess my own breasts for salad plated-ness.
In a matter of a few minutes, I went from thinking my breasts were the best work of art since Mona Lisa to praying to the Almighty that my nipples were not sub par. That would have basically meant that my whole life was predicated on a lie. How can I go on living with these things?
I found myself rushing through my shrimp alfredo and hoping that my companion did not want dessert or after dinner coffee.
When I got home, I think I set the all time record for shirt /bra removal. I mean, I had to see if the worst fear of my life could be confirmed. Alas, I too had abnormally large areolas. My illusions of self-love and amazing boobs had been shattered. Everything I ‘d ever known had been turned upside down. What ever was I to do?
Why look into my own areola reduction, of course.
My search for a surgeon to perform my surgery is really only half-cocked. In the back of my mind ( and mostly in the front) I know that this is just silliness. Suggestion, however, is very powerful. I didn’t even know I was “abnormal” until it was pointed out to me. Isn’t this usually how it works? We go along traveling on our happy slappy path; them BAM! Here’s your friend – mother – Bravo TV – Cosmo Magazine – some random stranger with their own baggage to tell you about your so – called flaws. It turns your world upside down and you can’t stand naked in the mirror anymore without hating your boobie plates.
The reality is, this is just a really stupid insecurity. No one cares. No man is ever going to tell you to put your clothes back on because your areolas are too large. You will never be denied credit or turned away from a restaurant because of your salad plates.
Get over it.