I have teeny tiny boobies and a big fat back. Imagine a plump prepubescent with twin zits and a moustache and you've got the idea.
This makes brassiere-buying somewhat impossible because the vast majority of bras are built for Amazonian princesses with breasts like cantaloupes and backs like pick-up sticks.
The good news is, the Fat Ladies Store finally ordered hooter holders for the freakishly boobless heifers of the world and it was with no small amount of glee that I bought a bra that should have, technically speaking, fit.
Let me just say I could fit a coffee maker and a bucket of Kentucky Duck in the vast empty caverns of those B cups. When I put it on this morning I didn't know whether to stuff 'em with toilet paper or take them in a notch. Or two. OK, so three notches.
I decided to sew them because we didn't have enough toilet paper. Actually, Wal-mart, Costco and the suspiciously-dusty-variety-store-with-the-bongs-in-it-down-the-street combined don't have enough toilet paper, such is the vastness of the twin grand canyons now strapped to my chest.
I also decided to sew the cups while the bra was on. ("On" being a less than accurate description of the hanging nipple-ended bits of flesh occupying empty corners of the cups.)
I don't recommend you do this.
I have been pierced in places that should not be pierced. And my sweatshirt and brassiere are now as firmly connected as a childproof lid on a bottle of pain pills.
Looks like you won't be getting to first base tonight, honey.