A Confession at 23:50

Boob Envy


Jealousy is an irregular and erratic emotion.

Imagine it as a rash; its itchy, its hot and it irritates you right to the core. There are different levels of inflammation that you can catch, ranging from the bearable to the insanely painful. You can have the reoccurring outbreaks of mild prickliness, which only appear in certain places, every once in a while. OR, and this OR is a bad OR because it’s an OR which no person deserves to have, you can have the full bodied blisters, which are constantly ignited and cause searing grief on a daily basis. It depends on your character, I guess, which degree of itchiness you have; if you are of a content disposition I doubt you would get this rash often, but if you are unhappy, insecure and resentful I could imagine how unbearable your rash might be.

It’s an unattractive trait to be sure; one that can creep up unannounced with not so much as a hello or good day to settle in on your heart like it’s a sofa-bed. It’s a squatter, a horrible green-eyed monster squatter, not welcome to stay but not easy to remove either.

I think everyone has this little green monster inside of them. I know I do and though mostly docile mine can be dangerously feral and has a tendency to pop up at the most inconvenient occasions. I think everyone would admit, if they were being really honest with themselves, that at one time or another, this green creature has had a house call.

And I have one that comes a-knocking most frequently.

So here it is; my third confession to you all – I have outrageous boob envy.

It started ever since my classmates hit puberty.

Did you get that?


I mean just so we’re clear – effectively everyone else but ME hit puberty.

I got tha/

My classmates, NOT ME, my friends, NOT ME, everybody else got’s the goodies… except ME. So we are clear, right? They got boobs, I did not. Yeah? Oh… you got that the first time?


Without my help? Oh…

Never mind then…


P.E was the worst. I’d wander in all innocent and flat-chested to get changed and BAM… BOOB’S EVERWHERE! It’s no wonder they thought I was a lesbian (not that the short hair helped or anything) for I could but stare, dumbfounded, at them. My eyes would always wander away from theirs and drift down to their chests; at their perfect perky mounds of boob. I found it hard to look away. My jealousy was so severe, so astonished and so in UTTER awe of their tits, that it wouldn’t stop looking at them. Its green eyes were stuck.

‘I’m unhealthily transfixed by them’, partly because I find these big bosoms beautiful but also because I secretly want to punch them back into their chests… I think being a pervert is better than causing physical bodily harm, no?

Mine are pitiful; to quote Bend it Like Beckham they are like ‘mosquito bites’. I wish they weren’t, I wish they were as ample as Kelly Brook’s are… did you see Piranha 3D?  They were splendid… floating nicely underwater like inflatable balls of loveliness… Sigh

I am honestly not a lesbianbut damn… I love her boobs.

It’s funny how many words beginning with B perfectly describe the boobs I want –






Boobralicious (look it up on Urban Dictionary… it’s there. Also look up breastaholic and breasmerized…)









Bulky, really? Think you are desperately clutching at straws now… hum? This is turning into a dictionary rather than a blog post.

Ok, ok, maybe not bulky… or most of the others, but you get the idea.

It’s an unattainable desire, one that I will probably never get over. I can only hope that pregnancy will be kind and make my boobs grow to a decent proportion.

But, until then, my boob envy rages on…

So if you see me staring at your bazooma’s, I’m sorry, just take it as a HUGE compliment and know that it’s either that or I cut them off… which do you prefer?

To Kill a Wendy-bird…


Thanks to a close friend of mine (Patrick Enigma… I’ve mentioned him before perhaps you remember…? No? What? Well then read the post about him then, sheeeesh…) we’ve finally figured out which female Disney Character I am.

You know all those online questionnaires you do to figure out which Princess you are most like?



Its fun; my friends and I used to have fun figuring out which ones we were and talking about our predominant character traits. Although, sometimes, it did lead to arguments when negative traits were mentioned… you know the ones your friends are not meant to notice or point out… EVER… well, I used to have fights with one of my Besties (Jellybean, will talk about her soon!) about which one of us was more like Belle from Beauty and the Beast… used to end with us having to pick other ones; she would be Ariel and I would end up being Snow White just to save us from throwing chocolate at each other.

HOWEVER, that has now changed. I finally must bow down and admit defeat… for I am none of them. Yes I love reading like Belle and can I sing like an angel too… (yeah errrm one of those might be a slight over exaggeration…) yes I love to clean up with my animal friends like Snow white and yes I flirt as badly as Meg does… not sure if she counts as a princess… meh… demi-god-dater is close enough… and hell’s yeah I like to rebel like Ariel but, alas, nope, nada, I am none of them. A single character trait has foiled me.

And that’s jealousy.

Can you guess who I mean yet?


Ok, well I shall go into a little bit more detail. I HATE IT WHEN MY MALE FRIENDS GET GIRLFRIENDS.

There I said it… soooo happy to get that off my chest.

It’s not as if I fancy them or anything (well, sometimes…) but I just can’t stand it when another girl comes along and thinks she knows this guy better than I do. Fine ok I don’t know what their penis looks like but dammit there is a history here and you are spoiling it. I despise the girlfriends that force their lovers to stop hanging out with their friends just because their friends are women… I mean what’s that about? If you love him you should trust him. End of. You doing that just makes you out to be an obsessive, insecure and immature bitch. (You can tell I’ve had this happen to me often can’t you?) Do they really think I’m going to run off with their beloved? If I had wanted to don’t you think it would’ve happened already? (Wow that’s really arrogant isn’t it… (it isn’t if it’s true..) SHUSH INNER ME, ahem what nonsense… I certainly don’t think it would be that easy… … …)

A guy and a girl can be friends.

No. No. THEY CAN! It’s a myth set up by the controlling partners who can’t stand their girlfriend/ boyfriend being with the other sex no matter how innocent the situation may be.

That annoys me.

That’s why, like Tinkerbell, I burn red with hatred when girls take my boys away.

Lord that sounds possessive…

No it is possessive.

I admit I am slightly possessive…

I’ve no idea where it stems from; I don’t get as bad when my girly friends are taken away by their boyfriends… I think it’s because men can’t help but focus on one person at a time. When a guy has a girl they are either all in or not and that means that I am more than usually forgotten.

I hate being forgotten. Or left out. Or ignored… I think everyone can emphasise with those feelings.

I also think it’s easier between girls because they can have the excuse: ‘oh I’m having a girly night in/out, no boys allowed’ or on the other side ‘LADS NIGHT OUT!’ You can’t exactly say ‘we’re having a best boy and girl friend night out’ can you? It just doesn’t work, it just instantly sounds suspicious, WHICH IS SO UNFAIR, especially when there is really nothing suspicious about it AT ALL… it’s just the rules (written by the domineering manipulative, green-eyed cows… ahem I mean loving girlfriends I told you about… must not be bitter… stop being bitter…)  

Funny how it was my male friend that noticed… maybe because he is very much like Peter Pan…

And I am certainly his Tinkerbell; his sidekick who tries to kill his Wendy-birds… as of yet I have only ever approved of one of them… future Wendy-birds… BE CAREFUL!!! (but don’t worry I won’t really kill you, I will just turn red and glare at you or make it plain when meeting you for the first time that I did not want you here, interrupting Peter and I’s private party is a capital offence… and is not tolerated lightly.)

Ha I joke, like I would never be that obvious…

*shifty eyes…