Standing by the register at the cleaners recently, I noticed a rack of dresses for sale. "This is cute!" I commented, poking at one.
"You try on," urged the owner in her thick Russian accent. "You size [fictional number]?"
I shook my head. "It varies."
She took a sweeping glance, eyes landing on my backside and nodded solemnly.
"Ah. Because you..." she paused, looking for words and, failing, flowed
her hands in a wide arc mimicking an enormous and grossly-misshapen
hourglass. "You. Beeeg!! THERE."
She pointed at my rear, beaming, having happily identified The Great Asplenia Protuberance.