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Man breaks window at Kingston business and steals bike

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Hearing continued in animal cruelty case

<p>We all know October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month, right? And you know what that means. We talk about Boobies! Jugs! Knockers! Bazookas!</p><p>Life is funny, even ironic.</p><p>Growing up, I developed very early. I loathed my Play Dough form. My body couldn&#8217;t handle the extra cargo at such a young age. None of my friends had this issue and I felt like either one of my extra endowed grandmothers. True story: To flatten my burgeoning tea cups, I would wrap an Ace bandage around my chest. It was all workable until summertime. My solution was to wear an ugly Speedo bathing suit and tie the straps with a shoelace until my chest flattened enough not to have to wear a poncho in the pool.</p><p>As my body surged forth into the high school years, I was still larger than any of my friends and still hated how I looked. I wore billowy clothes, football jerseys and my brother&#8217;s t-shirts. It didn&#8217;t help that the boys would yell at me in the cafeteria: &#8220;How&#8217;re those melons smellin&#8217;, Helen?&#8221; I was so confused, I would yell back: &#8220;I don&#8217;t know! Ripe?&#8221; until my friend, Denise, explained I was being harassed. I wasn&#8217;t savvy enough to be affronted. I just continued to dress like Mama Cass, the early years.</p><p>The wheels really came off the mammary wagon when I gave birth to my daughter. I tried to breastfeed, but I had a legitimate fear I could smother her with those submarines filled with nature&#8217;s bounty. The best day for both of us was when I shoved a bottle of unnatural formula down her throat. However, my chest was still just freakishly large. I felt like I had to pay for carry-on luggage when I flew. But I had no carry-on luggage. Just a carry-on set of eggplants. My back ached, I slouched like Shrek and I wanted to carry those eggplants around in a grocery cart.</p><p>I made the best decision of my life a few years later when I discovered a real thing called breast reduction surgery. I won&#8217;t go into the icky details, (although you know I&#8217;d love to), but suffice it to say it was a whole new world. I finally felt properly compartmentalized. My 4&#8217;11&#8221; body wasn&#8217;t being suffocated by those awful feedbags any longer.</p><p>Jump ahead to 2010 (this is the ironic part) when breast cancer wreaked havoc upon my soul. And, then, sadly, I had the mother of all breast reductions. Good bye toxic tatas! You and I were never right for each other, anyway. It&#8217;s not you; it&#8217;s me.</p><p>After 10 procedures and revisions, all signs of cancer, breasts and implants were removed forever. I was faced with the exact opposite issue that had plagued my younger years. A dichotomy of breasts. Now I was struggling to find a way to plump me up, so I didn&#8217;t resemble a 12-year-old boy.</p><p>It was while I was debating the purchase of expensive mastectomy bathing suits for vacation when my friend, Jen, said to me: &#8220;You wear whatever the hell you want! No one knows you on that beach. You can be whomever you want to be. No one cares.&#8221;</p><p>A switch was flipped. She was so right. I decided to no longer try to build up my depleted sand castles. I am free. I am unencumbered. Let freedom ring. Not swing. I am good enough. Finally. The decades of Breast-gate are over. How are those melons smellin&#8217;? Just right, thanks.</p><style>
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<div class="metaInfo"><bylineMeta><p>Life Deconstructed</p><p>Maria Jiunta Heck</p></bylineMeta></div><div class="metaInfo"><shirttailMeta><p>Maria Jiunta Heck, of West Pittston, is a mother of three and a business owner who lives to dissect the minutiae of life. Send Maria an email at mariajh40@msn.com.Reach</p></shirttailMeta></div>

Life Deconstructed: The trials and tribulations of tatas