Correction: I have a butt. However, it is approximately a foot and a-half lower than where I last left it.
A FOOT AND A-HALF.
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You know, I understand physics. I could probably even work out the Newtonian mechanics of how my butt sank? (Dropped? Got lower? You call it.) And why it ended up where it did. I could maybe even make a projected calculation of where precisely my butt will be in 5, 10, or 20 years from now. (That last sentence right there is going to send me for the Edy's Thin Mint ice cream. Posthaste.)
But with all of that understanding and science and whatnot, I ask you: WHEN DID THIS HAPPEN? Was it after Child #1? Was it somewhere sitting on my duff during medical school? (Does extended seatedness literally smush and flatten?) Was it after Child #2? (I refuse to consider said ice cream and previously posted-about peanut butter Oreos had anything to do with such a nefarious and deliberately unsexy deed...)
I used to have a butt. In fact, I always thought it was somewhat of a bubble butt, just a bit too high and "out there" (thank you, Sir Mix-a-Lot). Now, though? Oh, what I wouldn't give to have the butt of my youth back, in all of its collagen and elastin-ated glory. Instead I am left with this totally NOT gravity-defying...Well, I don't know what to call it. No self-respecting butt would be caught dead looking like what mine does. It's...sagging. It's...squishy. It's...defeated. Poor thing. IT HAS LOST THE WILL TO LIVE! WOE AND ABJECT MISERY!
And, with that pleasant visual, please, Hottie McHotts, disregard everything you may have just read and/or continue pretending my butt in all its present state of NOT GLORY is indeed a beautiful thing.
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