Courtney Stodden is nineteen and single, or about to be, and she’s wasting little time getting back out there into the hot L.A. singles market with her sense of demure style and low-key wardrobe. Or, perhaps the opposite.
I mostly feel bad for Courtney’s date, who has to sit through dinner pretending not to stare at her ginormous hooters. We’ve all been there before, perhaps to a lesser circumference degree, but all the same, it can get awkward trying not to gaze awkwardly into such exposed expansive orbs. Gravity alone will draw the iris toward second base. Were I on a date with Courtney, I might employ my trick of referring to her biggish funbags as her sisters. For instance, ‘And would your sisters like a drink as well? Wait, are they legal yet?. Then we’d have a good laugh while I imagined entering the Motorboat Hall of Fame after dessert. Enjoy.