Nature abhors a vacuum.

Vapor expands to fill whatever size space in which it is contained. When getting a raise, we increase our spending to match our income. Along these lines, I am convinced that my boobs expand to fill whichever bra I'm currently wearing.

Follow me here. When it's time for me to buy a new bra every three or so years, I've inevitably gained weight, as the march of time and my obsessive love of half and half crushes my sense of self worth and eliminates all urges to maintain any kind of pleasing figure. So, I go shopping, my shirts still fitting, only to find I've gone up a cup size or so. Now, my left boob is a size bigger than my right, and Stacy and Clinton say to fit your largest part, so I get a bra that fits the left boob. Well, now that I have a bigger bra that fits, my boobs, being the clever glands that they are, stop holding it in. They relax. They spread out. All of a sudden, my shirts don't fit. I cry when I see my reflection in mirrors and windows. Are they REALLY that big? At my costume fitting, I shriek, "Tighter! Tighter!" to the dresser lacing my bodice, "Flatten them out!" I watch as, while wearing the new bras made of slightly flimsier fabric, buttons pop and strain where there was no strain last week. Everything else still fits. There's just a gleam of nude nylon in the gaping buttonholes.

I have a plan, though. And no, it doesn't involve anything taxing. Sheesh. Have you met me? I'm going to start buying smaller bras. If the breasticles can expand, they can compress. I'll start marketing them as condensers. No minimizers for me, they aren't aggressive enough! They'll be reinforced with steel mesh, forming a perfect shape with my boobs. And they won't bounce! No bouncing boobies. I'll be able to walk down stairs without pain and without gaping passerby. People will stop telling me to get a reduction. It's my own plan of reduction. Reduction by force.

I think I'm on to something.