Breast in class

Let's face it, Ploggers, I've put on a bit of weight. Though before you all start telling me I should be on the Atkins plan and wolfing down the Slim Fast, let's get this into context. I've gone up from approximately 6 stones 13 to 7 and a half stones exactly. This means I'm still underweight, but not quite as bony as I used to be. All is good.

Mrs Nunn clearly noticed this on her latest visit. However, Mrs Nunn, unlike normal parents would not go with the tactful, "Oh, you look healthy", or the slightly-less-tactful, "You're looking bonny." Did she come right out and say, "Christ, you're a porker"?

No. Mrs Nunn has but one measure for weight. Tits.

So, Mr and Mrs Nunn were sitting at the dinner table, with little brother Jack and my grandmother. Mrs Nunn looks at me, looks away, looks at me again, and states, nice and loudly, "Your breasts have got bigger, Laura."

There is no shock around the dinner table. Because this is Mrs Nunn's standard measure of weight. Last time I went home she said, "Your breasts have got smaller, Laura."

I dread to think how she monitors Jack's BMI. I daren't ask.

"Mum," say I, "next time you want to say, 'aren't your breasts bigger?', how about you just say, 'have you put on weight?' It's just that you talk about my breasts a bit more than is natural."

"Humph," says Mrs Nunn. "It's not my fault you're flaunting your knockers. And they are bigger. So there."