Sometimes your choice of underwear is down to the size of your breasts.
If literally the only dark coloured bra in the shop which fits is purple, you'll just have to have that one. Because your underwire made a bid for freedom that morning and by lunchtime had actually made your poor, tender underside bleed and even though it's the third week of the month and you have almost no money left, you can't survive without a bra, or with the vicious stab of pain every time you move so purple it is and so there.
And sometimes what you're wearing is just down to what's clean.
I know men love the tatas, but you do not want to know what sweaty breasts can smell like.
Given the choice I would go back to an A cup, well okay maybe a B.
There are things my less amply proportioned sistas simply do not have to deal with. So there are times I regret my Faustian pact for busters bigger than my head.
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Life's hard you know, so strike a pose on a Cadillac
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