My D-Cup runneth over. . .

There are a number of things that I am in denial about. First and foremost, the fact that Designing Women is no longer on the air; secondly, the almost certainty that Hilary Duff and I will never be lesbians together; and lastly, the substantiality of my bust. The admeasurement of my bosom. The magnitude of my upper trunk—-a.k.a. my ginormous boobs. I’ve always been well-endowed in that department. Don’t take this as me bragging, because I hate having huge fun bags. As a young girl growing up in a small mid-western town in Northern Kentucky, I was a tomboy. I use to do whatever I could to hide them: baggy clothes, sports bras, taping them down (shut up, I was desperate). I even had the crazy theory that sleeping on my stomach would somehow stop them from growing. Needless to say, a.) it didn’t work and b.) I apparently drank a lot of paint thinner as a child, because I have no other way to describe my irrational theory.

Super colossal sweater muffins run in my family, which is a fact I can no longer deny. I mean, for a while there I was down to a medium C-cup. My breasts hadn’t been that small since New Kids On The Block released their first number one single in the late-80s. However, now that I’ve added a little cushion for the pushin, the girls are back in town. I swear, every time I gain any amount of weight, it goes straight to my love bubbles. Even now, though, that I’m back to being D-tastic, I still have smaller juggs than my sisters. Granted one has always had freakishly large dueling banjos and the other one is six months pregnant, this is still quite the accomplishment in my family.

I fear that this feat will not last. They just keep growing. I swear, if these things get any bigger I’m gonna set them afloat into the Pacific Ocean and start my own island chain. Major export: milk. I’m gonna start donating my old bras to poor third world countries to use as shelters. I have enough boob fat to restock Lindsay Lohan’s rack and still manage to fill out my bathing suit top. I could produce enough breast milk to quench the thirst of the entire state of North Dakota. I mean, it’s only a matter of time before they overtake the rest of my body and begin their plan of total world domination. In which case, I apologize in advance.