The breasts of a college student in my yoga class

have got me thinking about my own.

My hotyoga class, I should say, so as to conjure the appropriate image of myself sweating and barfing and toppling to the mat whence I imagine myself screaming away in an ambulance to be resuscitated somewhere with the paddles. Plus, the instructor who looks like Rashida Jones. Kill me. At least the electrolyte imbalance makes me a totally cheap drunk. A cheap drunk with breasts like white elephant trunks.