Saturday, March 29, 2008

Butt Crack

Musings on a Butt Crack

I wonder if she felt it. Almost the entire split of her backside bulged out over too-tight pants as she sat on the picnic table bench across from a Jack Spratt skinny man. The table was situated alongside the busy road carrying workers and moms, students and musicians, athletes and gardeners to and fro. I mean, didn’t she sense a draft back there? Didn’t the tightness of her southerly waistband cut off circulation so that her legs would tingle like when you sleep on your arm wrong? Does she not have nerve endings in the back of her body? Oh, well then. She MUST think it’s attractive. Or maybe sexy. Jesus, there ought to be a law.
How can people a) get that way or b) think that the exposure of such corpulence is appealing? Maybe her man likes the publicity, as in “my wife has a wonderful derrière, and I want everyone to see it.” Has he ever looked at a Playboy? The centerfold has to be unfolded vertically for a reason. They don’t require a horizontal unfolding as well. I have never seen a “large” print version of Playboy. Maybe there’s a market for this mature AARP version. Call it Aging Ass for Retired Playboys.
Back to my friend at the park. She had a long, thick braid descending almost to the top of her bare buttocks--the kind you see in K Mart and 99 cent stores--or at health food stores draping down the backs of gray haired male and female hippies in their sixties and seventies wearing sandals and no bras. I kind of like that idea, though. There must be an age at which it’s okay not to care any more. Or rather, there must be a time when you can choose to dress to the nines OR roam around in the slovenly furnishings of the rich and famous when you’re fixed-income poor and decidedly unknown, or want to be.
Maybe my new acquaintance was a starlet in disguise wearing a Mrs. Doubtfire body suit and a Sacagawea wig for a privately public picnic in no-name Cypress, California on a Thursday afternoon. Or not. At forty miles and hour on the way home from work, I didn’t take the time to circle around for a closer view. After all, it looked dreadful the first time around. However, it DID garner my attention in the sick way writers find grist for the writing mill in just about anything.

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