The Chicken/Egg Conundrum, Mammarily Speaking
For me, the underlying question is this:
Or did her sideboard of melons develop later, as a result of said knock-upage?
If so, and she was pancakeish in the chestal region pre-baby-baking, does this lack imply she might actually have other attributes that drew Hockey Hick into her panties?
Like, say, a remarkable personality? (I understand from her mother that Bristol is “strong and kind-hearted.” All the best teen mothers are.)
Hmmm. I wouldn’t bank on the personality. If it wasn’t her boobies that snagged Hockey Honkey, it could only have been her thick, lustrous hair that turned his attention away from the puck.
…or the fact that she jumped out of her seat in the bleachers one time during a big pep ralley, holding a sign reading “Go, Trojans!” However, our Hockey Hero, a bit shakey in his literacy, read it as “No Trojans!”
At any rate, Bristols’s got the healthy hooters now, ready to be rolled into the White House on a luggage cart and, one one fateful night, slapped on top of the Prime Minister of Trinidad and Tobago’s china plate during a State Dinner when she storms in late after a fight with Baby Daddy, hauling Hockey Hobbit Junior on her hip. She’ll huff to the table, toss the kid to Nicholas Sarcozy, and lay her rack right on top of the lucky Trinidadian dignitary’s lamb. For her, this body language will smack of frustration and defeat; for the wide-eyed PM of TT, however, it will smack of hope and joy and the dawn of renewed relations between his “country” and Bristol’s.
Our country’s future lies in our youth.
And the negotiating power of their oversized Rib Balloons.