My Boobs Sweat Like Faucets

You know what really sucks? Under boob sweat. I have despised this physical excretion for quite some time now, especially in the realm of ballet class. Getting soaking wet on your leotard ONLY underneath your tits makes for an interesting Q&A session with inquiring students.."Miss Molly, why are you ALL WET?" Now I'm a fairly sweaty person by nature. When I am exerting energy to do something, I tend to perpire a bit. For whatever reason, my titties always seem to be working the hardest.
Now I assumed that after for getting my "picker-upper" boobie lift last year that my problem would be magically solved. Higher titties equals no nasty crease in which my jugs can be tricked into leaking like Hugh Hefner's adult diapers, right? Nope. Since they are significantly larger (hey, like I was going to go under with a bunch of anesthesia and a scalpel and NOT fill up what my kids sucked out?! Plus it gave me a chance to even out the lopsided look I've been sporting since I was 14), this equates to being a hotter person. Simple deduction, I suppose, that I never considered. And when I say "hot" I mean like Florida in August, NOT like having some college kids yell "MILF!" when I wear a tank top..Though this did happen and I admit made me smile..
So last week, at the culmination of my summer ballet classes, I always have an observation day where the parents can sit in my classroom for the whole class to see what Little Suzy has been doing all semester. (On a sidenote, much of my classes this term spent their time screaming, running, smashing into the mirror, hanging on the ballet barre, tickling/grabbing other kids, and generally not listening to me. I think a few moms gave their kids crack for breakfast before they passed them off to me in their frilly, pink tutus..) So we start innocently enough on the floor, do our little rainbow stretches and then rise up to grow into a beautiful flower garden. (No, I am not on acid, my colorful imagery engages the kids until they go ape-shit and ignore me.) As I am "blooming", I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirrior and remember why I should never, EVER wear any color besides black in the summer. My pretty red leotard now looks as if someone dumped blood, about 6 pints of it judging by how far it's spread, all over my mid-section but still in the shape of two ginormous titties. I sense the looks of amazement and fear from the kids and now the row of 20 parents with video cameras recording my Girls Gone Wild Wet Leotard Contest. Holy shit, how do I begin to cover this up?! Well, of course I pretend nothing is wrong. I place myself as far away from the parents as possible so no one will whisper, "Holy shit, is the ballet teacher LACTATING?" It always makes it better when you get caught by another parent after class trying to dry out your jugs with the hand dryers in the john. Next summer I will be fashioning a bra out of Bounty paper towels under my fun bags....