i was on a date with The Boy when we'd not been together long and he took me to a rather nice restaurant.
sidebar: now, it's true that i'm prone to spilling. and big breasts make for a sort of "shelf" that will serve to catch things (like crumbs) that fall into people without abnormally large breasts' laps. but because i know this, and if i am really really careful, i can avoid collecting crumbs or droplets like a pro.
so there i was, trying to be all charming and sophisticated while dutifully minding my fork-from-plate-to-mouth movements.
but. the restaurant was intimate and we were speaking in low tones, which i thought was romantic until The Boy politely pointed to my shirt and i knew before i even looked down that i'd caught something, despite my best efforts.
except i hadn't "caught" so much as "smooshed".
in leaning forward to engage in intimate and meaningful conversation, my boobs had -- totally unbeknownst to me -- jutted into my mashed potatoes.
naturally i was wearing black.
the point is, there are some advantages to having a great rack, but it's almost impossible to manage sophistication when you have a creamy side dish smeared on it.