Boobs + Science = Get a Towel (Patreon)

So, common sense would dictate that eventually, I might want to know how much subcutaneous adipose tissue I’m lugging around every day. And it doesn’t take a trip too far down the rabbit hole to figure out that maybe a scale would be the best way to sort the issue out.

But not really. I could just flop one of the girls on a bathroom scale, but you know, it’s not very accurate. My smaller-breasted sisters I’ve seen online have tried this (I’m sure there are still videos out there somewhere) but it seems too easy to cheat, or for the number to be off. You could just lean into it or something. 

I’m not very good at math. Maybe I was dropped on my head when I was a baby, and while I’ve always had an appreciation for science, adding two three-digit numbers together causes me to close my eyes and wrinkle my nose, and even then, I come up with the wrong answer. Maybe it has something to do with growing up before that core curriculum bullshit. 

So enter one night a couple of years ago, when I was hanging out with a fella I was seeing. I tend to attract breast men, and in his case, he was actually a really cool guy. But being a breast man, he had some pretty advanced ideas about how to go about figuring out how much boob I was rocking. I guess he was clever, or he had put some thought into it, or both.

44N, ya see, is kind of a loose figure. I’ve mentioned before that the laws of physics break down once you get out of the D range, so something a little more sophisticated was needed. He explained an idea to me (he was an engineer, so I gave him some leeway), and while it sounded ridiculous at first, it made sense in principle. Plus, we were stoooooned, so I thought, what the hell. 

So here, dear readers, is a patented method for weighing a human breast, when tape measures don’t really give an adequate idea anymore. If inches and centimeters are general relativity, this is quantum mechanics. Or something.

First, you take a bucket of water and fill it to the brim. Stick that bucket into a larger container. Then, dip a boob into the water, all the way up to the chest bones. This might take some finagling, because the other boob wants to get in on the action. But if some people are good at math, I’m good at wrangling a boob against the ceaseless force of gravity while bending over a bucket on the floor. Everyone’s good at something.

Anyway, the water in the smaller bucket will displace and overflow into the larger container. Take that water, measure it out by volume, crunch some numbers, and voila — you’ve got a pretty accurate estimate. 

So let’s break it down, and rely on our old buddy the metric system, to help. 

A liter of water weighs 1 kilogram. Breasts weigh a little less (they float in water, which is why swimming pools are the bees’ knees — I defy you gravity). For the sake of argument, boob fat weighs about 90% the weight of water.

I suppose I could write a formula at this point, but refer to above statement about math shittiness. In short, last time I did this, my right boob displaced about 6.1 liters of water; my left tittie displaced 5.7 liters.

So now, it’s test time. I’m a little tipsy right now, so I’ll leave it up to you to do the math. But suffice it to say, yeah. It’s kind of a shit ton. 

Happy calculator-ing, my Patreon homies. Bonus points if you convert to pounds — as an American, I respect the metric system for its multiples of 10, but I have no idea how many pounds are in a kilogram, or how many miles are in a kilometer. Probably a shit ton, too.