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Speak Out Series: Eva

(Note From the Management: The opinions expressed in the Speak Out Series are those of their individual writer and not necessarily shared by myself. The only influence I have on this is showing them how to post and letting them use my password. Thank you.)

First, allow me to introduce myself. I am the Talented Miss Eva and yes, I am the one crazy (read: desperate) enough to date Kendall. Just kidding Sweetheart.

I’ll answer a few questions you may have about the picture to the left before we get started tonight. Yes, they are real. Yes, I am a natural blonde although I will admit that I added bleach to it shortly before I left for that trip. No, you may not check the carpet.

Now that my preamble is out of the way, we can get down to the meat and potatoes of this little post of mine.

“I hope people realize there is a brain beneath this hair and a heart beneath these boobs” – Dolly Parton

As you can see, genetics were quite kind to me in the bust department. Although on my more cynical days, I think they’re a case of “too much of a good thing”. Don’t believe me? Well, we will just have to see about that.

Once upon a time, there was a nine year-old girl with a dream to become a professional gymnast. She wanted the glory, the recognition, the ability to travel the world. She had practiced as much as her mother would allow since she was small. Before her eleventh birthday, she would win several regional competitions and place at the state-level. Then along came puberty. At age 13, wearing a 32B and showing no signs of stopping, she was told that she did not have the “appropriate figure” to compete. Crushed, she left competitive gymnastics for good a few months short of turning 15.

I don’t look back on that period of time fondly, even if it was over six years ago. I had never hated my body until then and probably would have delved into Anorexia had my mom not been on the lookout. Even with her making sure that I stopped before I got to that point, I still cursed my body with everything I had. Especially my breasts.

It was early in the summer of 2003 and I had gone shopping with my older sisters in Greenville, NC. We were walking out of Bath & Body Works when a sharp-dressed woman stopped us to ask if we would be interested in modeling. I didn’t stay in it in long, but I have to admit it did rebuild my confidence in my appearance. Plus, what kind of girl would I be if I had turned down getting paid to play dress-up?

Now it’s October of 2008. I’m a nursing student at Duke University, with a three (soon to be four) year-old daughter in tow. Let me repeat that, Duke University. I graduated from high school pretty damn high in the pack, not as much as say Kendall or The Bait but still impressive. Did I mention that my tuition at Duke is fully paid for because of the GPA I maintained at the community college I went to in order to save money? So, with all that in mind, will someone please tell me why I’m treated like a bimbo so often?

A recent example would be going to pick Daybreak up from the day care center last Friday. I had just gotten out of a seminar, still dressed in a business suit with power pumps and all, when I notice my gas light has popped on. I go to the Kangaroo and as I want something to drink, I go inside to pay. These two old men (I’d say they were in their early to mid-60’s) were talking about Sarah Palin. I passively listen to them as I find a diet coke and make my way to the cashier when one of the men notice that I seem to be listening and nudges his buddy.

Man: All the while, staring right at my chest “Hey Earl, that little priss is listening like she understands anything about what goes on the world. What’s the world coming to these days? Pretty girls like her just don’t know their place anymore.”

His buddy, Earl, laughs himself into a coughing fit.

It took every ounce of patience and self-restraint I possessed not to verbally castrate them. In my head, I could hear my mother telling me to be polite to my elders like a mantra. After a few moments, I calmed myself and left.

I really fucking hate stereotypes. I may love my boobs now, but dang if they’re not more trouble than they’re worth at times.

Sincerely, The Talented Miss Eva

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