Plate or Glass?

by Ankita K.

I remember being called a plate and a surfboard by those girls in my school. Especially Barkha.

Why would anyone call someone a plate or a slab? Did my body shape resemble one? It’s not even possible for someone to look like a plate, is it? That’s what I thought until I realized the reason for it.

I was called a plate because I was completely ‘flat’ in the chest region. I developed no breasts, even at the age of eighteen.

I plunged into depression, put on weight, and even tried to wear padded brassieres, all in vain. After consulting a doctor, I found out that I suffered from a medical condition called Hypoplasia, which meant that I was born without any breast tissues. And hoping to gain Barkha’s sympathy and getting her to stop mocking me, I told her about it.

It turned out she enjoyed it more than before. “It means there’s not even a chance you’d grow one, you hermaphrodite”, she had shouted and then laughed in my face.

I changed school the year after and then got into Medical college. I put all of my focus into proving my worth to myself.

I got my desired super-speciality and finally started my practice as a consultant plastic surgeon. All of this became possible only when I declined to carry the burden of ‘being less feminine’ on my shoulders.

And now, I’m standing in my well-established clinic, with a body of an hourglass and a success of a white lie.

I am waiting for my next patient. She’s scheduled for her lips and breast augmentation. She must be arriving anytime now. I have prepared the OT. My patient’s name is Barkha Sharma, by the way.

I was glad she got to know about my clinic. Why wouldn’t she, I have made sure she did, by putting the pamphlets with tempting offers on her doorstep. By making my assistant meet her up when she contacted us and tempt her for a lip filling.

She was never proud of her lips; I have always known that. And who wouldn’t like breast enhancement at such a low price? I knew it’d work.

And I bet she will not recognize me. Even I didn’t recognize myself. Moreover, I was not even that important of a subject for her.

But this will be my peace offering. By making her get rid of her plain lips and implanting cancerous tissues in her breasts. She will have to go through a mastectomy: removal of breasts.

Who’s the plate now, bitch?

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