At the Warriors/Pacers game tonight, my cousin comes up to me and before even saying hi, asks… “Are your boobs real?”
This was not a question I was expecting at all but I tell her, “Yes. Why?”
“Oh, because my mom thinks they’re fake. I told her they were real but she won’t believe me.”
“What?”
“And my dad insists they’re fake. He said you got ’em done in LA.”
I’m laughing, this is so absurd. I realize that earlier at the game was the first time her parents have seen me since I left for Seattle, before my body transformed.
“Tell them they’re what happens when you cook with real butter,” I tell her.