Photo via Splash
Yesterday, I saw the butt I want. Not the butt I want to tap, in the sexual kind of sense–though she was very beautiful, this lady walking down the street. Late thirties, big full head of glossy black hair, two adorable puppies, and her butt in the teeniest, tiniest pair of electric blue spandex short-shorts I have ever seen in my entire life. It was spectacular. The whole picture, and also her butt. Absolutely round, totally perky and cute and if she hasn’t spent a significant portion of her life in front of a mirror bouncing quarters off that thing, well, she’s been wasting her time.
She had an awesome butt, is what I am saying, and I wanted to run after her and say so. Hi, stranger on the street! I just wanted to tell you that your butt rules, and how on earth did you do it? Squats? Lunges? Weights? Lifts, pulleys, a complicated set of Pilates maneuvers that will make me cry? Is it a rollerblading butt, a yoga butt, a running butt, a gift from a benevolent god? Please tell me! I didn’t, though. Because that would be creepy. You think?
She wandered, tight-buttedly, into the sunset, and I sat there thinking
about how I wanted to have her butt, and plotting to get one. Even if
it isn’t as cute and tiny as hers in the end, a worked-out butt is a
joy and a privilege. And then I realized, oh hey. I am not sitting
here upset because my butt is nowhere near as firm as hers. I am
admiring a well-done ass, and trying to figure out how to get one of my
own. I don’t think it means that I am healed, hallelujah! My body image
issues are cured! But it felt like a nice change, a right step, a tiny
piece of the puzzle slotting into shape. Don’t envy what I don’t
have–do the best for what I’ve got. Hallelujah.