Because breast implants freak me out on every level and because I’m too thin (wow, did I really just write “too thin?” see, cancer is good for your self-esteem) for a TRAM flap–that’s when a plastic surgeon cuts a thick slab’o fat from your caboose (or elsewhere) and slaps it onto your chest –I found myself left with two stellar options: uniboob vs. no boobs.

Let’s talk about the singleton. I know plenty of women do and more power to ’em, but I just can’t image going solo. For starters, the asymmetry¬†would drive me bonkers. A dozen years of non-stop yoga has left me freakishly in-tune with my body. What does that mean? Trust me, it’s not as fun as it sounds. Basically, my brain is constantly calibrating my body’s position, checking to see if things are centered, and gauging whether or not I’m using both sides evenly. (Yes, vacuuming is a bitch.) But before you judge me freakier than I really am, you should know that such hyper-awareness was borne of necessity. It’s my way of micro-managing the aches and pains of scoliosis.

Because my back curves in umpteen different directions, every day is a fruitless search for center. Until last month, my messed-up back was my “thing.” ‘Cause everyone needs to have one sucks-to-be-you health thing, right? Except me. Now I have two. Shit. Well, the point is that my obsession with symmetry means you won’t see me rocking the uniboob.

Oh, and before you talk to me about a prosthesis, keep in mind that handstands are vital to my sense of well being. Think about it. Fake boob. Tiny yoga top. Upside down. It ain’t pretty.