The Real Cost of Inflation

I have an acquaintance that is crazy sexy cool. She's vivacious, outspoken, fun and thinks fast on her feet. She's a pretty girl with one disarming asset. Tremendous breasts. Purchased tremendous breasts. Breasts so tremendous in fact, that the slim fitted dresses she owned before the augmentation can no longer contain at least 70% of them at any given moment. I live in constant fear that any fast movement will result in a complete demoralization of the work place. I'm sure you get the picture. Lately, she's been talking about pumping up the volume. On her diminutive frame, any additional size would simply morph her into mammaries in pumps, which begs the question; what is the real cost of inflation?

In the office, here's a typical scenario. The women get annoyed because she's prancing around half-naked starving for attention. She believes they're all jealous, which I don't think is a valid argument since any girl with $4,000 and a medium-size pain tolerance can get their own pair of oversized chelobes. Most men expect a bimbo when they see her coming, which creates a preconceived notion that must be overcome in any business situation prior to be taken seriously. For the rest of the men and a few daring women, it's a daily jousting game of titillation. And I don't care what anyone says, if the melons are falling out of the crate, we're all going to look. It's like we see the banana peel, we see the heel about to hit the banana peel, we're waiting for the big finish.

For my friend herself, she appears to have made a complete and total monetary, physical and emotional investment in her breasts. She wonders why they can't solve all her problems. Why don't they bring her money? Fame and fortune? A rich husband? Friends? Happiness? World peace? A cure for cancer? Surely if she makes them bigger, she's headed for world domination.

The truth of the matter is, if you can't get your head out of your cleavage, you're never going to be happy. It's dark in there. It's hard to see. There's barely room to breathe. And besides, isn't it really someone else's job to have their head in there anyway?

I'm not one to judge anything anyone wants to do with their body. Well, within reason. If you make your breasts bigger than your head and wonder why men stare at them and don't take you seriously, then you might as well cut off your head, replace it with another big boob and become a triple threat, because you're never going to get it. Cher once said,"If I want to put my boobs on my back, I will. It's my business." And if the outcome is so many more people wanting to hug her, that's okay. As long as she doesn't sit there and wonder, "Why is everyone hugging me?"

So what's the real cost of inflation? I'm not really sure. But I do know this. If you're self-worth is contained in two sacks of silicone, you're only one millimeter in plastic away from leaking out all over the place. And that's a precarious place to be for anyone.