do not duct tape your breasts, no seriously

bonjour bitchbiscuits (formal greeting? check). you can call me what you want - a pioneer, a crusader, a symbol of our time, tackling the tough topics one at a time. starting with duct tapes and breasts.

to repeat earlier warnings, if you are under fifteen or over fifity and related to me, please return to your lego or knitting. likewise, if you are relatively handsome and single, stop reading (before i embarrass myself) and come serenade me.

okay, so let me boil it down for you. do not duct tape your breasts. duct tape is not a substitute for a bra. it is not comfortable. it is not silent. the only this it is, is stupid. and so am i. or so this story will show.

rewind four years to a warm day in march ... there stands anna (me) in the bathroom agonising over her outfit choice. fresh out of school, ready to show the world just how HOT this girl can be. clothing choice: a low cut, backless black halterneck designed to bring all the boys to the yard (much like my milkshake). only problem is this, i have breasts, boobs, melons, tits, boobies, cans, jugs, honkers, mammaries (whatever you want to call them really, apparently there's over 138 slang names). yes, i have two of them. they are well sized and they have minds of their own.

so in hindsight, i think its fair to say that this top was not meant to be worn with a bra. but i was a catholic school girl graduate with two well sized breasts and a roll of duct tape. the choice was obvious. with precision and a plan, i duct taped my breasts as perkily as i could manage. bending over, i lifted each on to maximum perk and strapped it there. to be clear on the effort involved here, it took over 45mins and i worked up a sweat.

the effect - absolute hotness. two perky breasts, a black halter top and one damn fine catholic school girl. fast forward three hours. slight problem. and here is how the drama unfolds ...

duct tape girl arrives at the party reading to flaunt it, shake what her mama gave her and bring boys to the yard with her milkshake. starting point, greetings. goes in for a big hello hug when *scrunch, welch, scrunch* noise ensues. suprised male counterparts hesitantly asks "anna, what was that noise?" response. to flash a smile. followed by 'noise, what noise?'

*rushes to bathroom*

okay breathe duct tape girl, its fine you just make noise when you move. that's fine, loud music. your fine. and then she feels it, one breast sag ... majorly. oh shit. duct tape failure, the sweat is making it loose it's adhesiveness. okay, bite the bullet girl and rip it off. *fuuuuuuuck*

so the tape comes off, painfully. there is a ball of tape the size of my head left on the bathroom floor, people are banging down the door, time to flea the room and leave the evidence. duct tape girl escapes the clutches of the tape in such a rush that the ball of tape lays on the floor suspiciously.

fast forward another hour or so, boys playing football with a massive duct tape ball as a bunch of girls muse nearby "what the hell? where did they get that" duct tape girls flashes a small smile.

so, take it from me. do not duct tape your breasts. no seriously.