Finding substitutes and making the most of what you have is an essential life lesson. When I was six, like many kids, I used to play "house." We'd take turns being the baby, the daddy, the mommy. Invariably, the mommy would rotate to me. I didn't know much about women at the time, but I knew one thing: moms = boobs. Mine would lay dormant for the next half decade, so I knew I'd better make do.
Stuffing hadn't occurred to me yet. It'd be years before I'd discover that my mom's spongy shoulder pads were prehistoric cutlets in disguise. Instead, I'd suck in my stomach and fashion (rather low hanging) breasts out of the bottoms of my ribcage. I'd mash stoic plastic baby faces up into my costae fluiantes. I'd strut around sultrily until my face turned blue. Good times.