Danielle Sinay

It had now been six days. Six days of side effects, six days of suffering, six days of symptoms ranging from sharting to thoughts of suicide.

I was raised by a family of huge breasts. My mother is a histrionic, busty blonde Mexican, along with the rest of her side of the family. My father’s mother, a very tiny but feisty entrepreneur, is a Double D and only 5’1″. And my father’s most recent wife was also a Double D — post surgery, at least.