There has bee about plastic lots of talk on the BBC radio Scotland today about plastic surgery so I feel I have to get my tuppence worth in.

I went under the Knife in early 1998 curtesy of the NHS.

I am one of these "unfortunate" woman who fell victim of the vanity culture of the 20th century.

I was one of those ugly ducklings with buck teeth & brazes,
 I was also always skinny, mum said because I was very active & had a high metabolic system that created lots of nervous energy, that I then burned up quickly, I was apparently hyper sensitive in the days before the label hyperactive had been coined.
I don't know if being titless was connected to this, however, I was always tit less.

If I wore black tights my legs looked like 2 sticks of liquorice , taunts of bugs bunny & olive oil were the norm & I learned early to smile & turn away, not let anyone see it bothered me, mums advice, it wasn't easy and I often cried myself to sleep.

The early teenage years was gruelingly torturous for me, I tried to wear it well, I tried very hard not to let anyone know how soul destroying it was.

From  an early age, most of my aunts & cousins were larger ladies, with ample bosoms, I came from a family of well endowed women.

I was the only girl in class not to have boobs... when everyone else was getting ready for PE I sunk down behind a towel trying to hide my ladybird vest.I hated PE days & swimming purely because of the changing room experience.
Eventually, mum got me one of those early training bras that were cup-less bits of nylon triangles sown in, to elastic, that having no boobs to stretch over & hold it down was usually worn above where my boobs should have been ,across my chest, leaving an elastic line mark like too tight socks does round the ankle. These bras don't allow for the old handkerchief , loo roll or cotton wool technique as I soon discovered cos given the nothing to hold it down issue , it meant that trick resulted in having boob like bumps a couple of inches below shoulder level!!

Additionally my mum kept my hair short till I was in my teens, so when I popped to the shops for her I was ofen greeted with "what can I get you son?" as opposed to "what can I get you hen?"
I learned the art of drawing my eyes off people in what is often deemed a dirty look quickly, on  the upside I was always told I had lovely eyes, so perfecting the dirty look seemed like a good option , I guess.


As an adopted child, I was fortunate to have someone to blame, my mystery  birth mother, became a sourse of contempt, as I pondered did she reject me cos i was an oddity girl who looked like a boy, a skinny titless buckteeth alien throwback seed of evil that would bring shame as I grew into a none woman ugly titless entity & yes being of slightly darker tinted completion than my fair skinned parents, when news that I was adopted was disclosed in  primary 6  by Sheena McLaughlin, my then supposed best buddy, I got my introduction as to what its like to be subject of racism & what that feels like, as I was told with disarming sniggers by my peers that I might be a " fucking paki bastard or half darkie and could have throwback back weans or even worse! I might be 1/2 catholic &1/2 darkie " ... oh yes it was fun times towards the end of primary school age 11/12 as puberty began & on top of everything else no tits developing.!!

I became obsessed with fashion & make-up, I devoured magazines like Jackie for fashion tips & ideas that might help define my femaleliness!!

In Primary 7 Mrs McDonald wrote on my report card that I was too obsessed with fashion & being with it! but nothing in regard of my academic abilities, my mother marched up to the school and gave her a piece of her mind pointing out that as long as my interests were not affecting my academic progress she didn't see what the problem was with my extra curriculum activities, of which I had many,  and to be fair mum was right again, cos when I finished my 1st year of secondary I had good results all A's & B's enough to get me into the top class in second year.

Another person who my mum, had serious words with in regard of my appearance issues was Sheena Mclaughlan's mum.

My mum rarely interfered in my arguments or peer upsets, telling me I had to learn to stand up for myself cos she would not always be around to fight my battles, however after one occasion when I had come back from sheena's house and slunk into my room & put on my records so I could not be heard crying mum came to see what was up, why was in,why was I moody & crying?

 I explained that Mrs McLaughlin had on this occasion decided to measure our boobs, Sheena was a slightly plumper girl than me with long blond hair, at 11 years old she already had ample bosoms as opposed to my, well, to be fair i never even had fried egg status boobs, just nipples!!

Flora was always making compassion between Sheena and me, our hair, our weight, her dance teacher & competitions she was in, my dance teacher, her grades , my grades...

without question Sheena was cleverer than me and always got better grades at school, but in hindsight her mum was a very childish , petty woman , but at 11/12 well that's not something I recognized .

 Anyway, on this occasion off mum marched up to have words, I didn't follow but when she came back I asked what she had said, to Mrs McLaughlin,  she told me that she Had told Flora, in no uncertain terms, that if she came near me again with a measuring tap , ribbon or piece of string to measure any part of my anatomy, she would take said measuring object & shove it so far down her throat that she would shit it out like a tape worm!!!

Mum didn't loose the nut or interfere very often, but when she did, she wasn't one to mince her words, nor was she one known not to keep her word!!!


To be fair I am able to admit that I did become obsessed with how I looked, its not easy being ugly, its not easy being the skinny girl with  no tits buck teeth & brazes that looks like a boy, particularly when around puberty, added to which I wanted to be an actress or dancer when I grew up, I loved dancing , I loved being on stage where I could be anyone else but me, but to succeed in that world you had to be beautiful, as well as talented , talent wasn't enough, so I guess I was searching for was something to enable &  help me achieve that ambition.

Its important to mention that my parents never pushed me in these areas, mum tried to help me find ways of getting over my hang ups about my looks, I was special , beautiful to her, I was talented &clever and could acheive anything I chose to if I wanted to worked hard & applied myself,
"looks fade June she would tell me, talent brains a nice caring, kind personality took you further & sustained you in lift & were much better tools to help you deal with the hard knocks you encounter along the road to success.
Yeah well... how much truth there is in that , to this day I still question.


Anyway, I left school at 16. I had planned to go back & do highers but changed my mind at the last minute & decided to get a job & pursue my ambitions I was attending drama school part time as well as continuing my dancing, and was now also attending The Myra Crichton school of deportment & Model agency in Glasgow, on saterday afternoons.
It was I guess a kind of finishing school where we were shown how to walk down a cat walk, get in and out a car without flashing our fanny's, make up & elocution.
I think my parent thought it might help knock a bit of the Glaswegian "Hairy " out of me!!
I had developed quite a broad accent, which to be fair I could turn off and on at will, I was not really allowed to talk in my natural dialect in the house, my dads family were well spoken, and my mum did not approve of me using the Glasgow vernacular in the house , you can talk as you choose on the streets & with your pals june, but in my house there will be none of that behaving like a fish wife!"

Attending Ms Crichton's did undoubtedly help my confidence about how felt about how I looked, much in the way my dancing classes had helped me build convenience & misguide my my many complexes, I learned how to fake it.
People always thought I was a cocky confident person, but truth was I never was , I had to work hard to fake it & spent a large part of my life being , pretending to be , someone I wasn't.

Thru  Myra Crichton .I remember being sent to have portfolio photos taken, I was told to take a selection of outfits which I did, after posing in my clothes this old guy produced a selection of see thru nightgowns and asked me to wear them , I was mortified but did it , I was 15 going on 16 ,and felt very uncomfortable and told my mum when I went home what had happened . This old guy BTW was a former head master apparently.

She was straight on the phone to Miss Crichton to report the incident, I don't think that photographer was used again.

Crighton's girls were also entered for Miss Scotland competitions etc, this would boost our profile & get us work apparently. I was about as far as you can get from the Miss anything stereo type , I was shorter than all the other girls, I had no boobs, my statistics were 28 -22- 30, while the average was at least 34- 24- 34...
But I learned that in the Miss wherever circuit these things could be got round if you succumbed to the whims and offers of the venue organizers .
 I remember having to literally fight off the advances of the then Mecca ballroom (Tifanys) on Sachihall St, a Manager a creep called John Stewart who had to be in his late 40's at the time, who tried to stick his tongue down my throat several times and was always pawing the girls on the promise of getting them a place in the finals. I got a third position in the Glasgow heat, much to my surprise.

I was punk rocker in my normal real life for fuck sake ... not exactly Miss Scotland material!!!
There is no doubt that the hopes and advances of dirty old men with management or higher title,  getting into the knickers of contestants of young ambitious women has more to do with the results of theses competitions than the girls looks, personality or anything else.

Anyway, I have somehow managed to deviate from the purpose of this blog....

I went under the knife in 1998 courtesy of the NHS after years of feeling less of a woman than I could be if only had boobs, and this was despite a career as part of a dance troupe and even a couple of years as a stripper ...without tits.!!!

My confidence had taken another slump after my then husband, who on my wedding day announced in his grooms speech to friends & famiy that after the reception that the brides wedding dress would be advertised and sold as a baptism dress as I, June, his new wife, & mother f his children, was the only woman in the room with two backs...
Of course I smiled coyly , even laughed out loud and turned my head away...
 as I had learned to do so many years before....

Several affairs of his later, I bit the bullet & filed for divorce & as a result of the depression & misery of pretending to be happy both with my marriage and indeed myself & how I looked...
I guess there is only so much fun any woman can take of being told how much better she would look if she had boobs & filled her clothing better... or did this or did that....

Anyway, I didn't want big boobs, I just wanted to look normal , I was in my late 30. by then...
and got size 34a implant's.... they look fairly normal except the don't move but they fill dresses and I guess make me look fairly normal and like a female should.

I can't say I would change having implants, I wouldn't, indeed when the scare about implants happened a couple of years back I ignored all advice from my kids to get my tits checked out, the idea of having my small  fake tits removed and being left wth two wrinkled empty sacks that would leave me feeling like the  ugly none woman girl of my youth far outweighed the health implications for me...
shallow I know...
but at 50 & single & although not on the market or ever lightly to find someone to take me on with all my mental health issues past & present ... & of course my big hob-nail boot gob that always seems to get me in the shit anyway, the idea of looking down and being boob less brings back all the horrors & misery of my youth and I certainly can't afford to have my tits replaced so...

My advice to any young women cntemplating surgery is this...
Don't let other people put you down, don't let the shallowness & cruel comments of others steel you of yourself, be who you are , don't risk your health because of the ugly words or thoughts of ugly small minded shallow people , be proud of who you are and make the most of yourself as you are ...
Don't let vanity & media presure take you on a road you may come to regret ...

We all have beauty within us even if its not always recognised by ourself or others , the problem is their's for not looking hard enough to see all that is you ... let yourself shine as you are... for at the end of the day
being all you can be , being yourself is the only real way to be happy with who you are and believe me
your worth it.... we all are.