It's hard to tell if you've gained weight. You're always with yourself, so you can never be sure. You feel the same.. you look the same, don't you? So you put on your favorite jeans. The ones that don't make you feel like your ass is following you down the street.
Take a deep breath, suck the gut in, squinch the bum cheeks together so's you can shimmy 'em up and over your curves. Mirror positioning is key. You've gotta get in between two mirrors, tweak them this way and that.. You know what I'm talkin' about. The mirror shot that will give you the full on back view of your backside You twist a little, turn a lot, wondering if the jeans don't seem a bit tighter than the last time you wore them, hoping to god it's only because you just washed and dried them.. and you know how that damn dryer is.. always with the shrinking! That's gotta be why they feel so tight today.
It can't be the mounds of take-out from Thai Tai that you and The Surge order nearly every day of the week. It's certainly not that entire bag of Doritos you snarfed down (then disgustingly licked the Dorito dust from your fingers that you let collect there just for that reason) in record time during MTV's eight hundredth broadcast of the Video Music Awards..And there is absolutely no way it's related to the raw cookie dough you spooned straight from the tube three days ago when your premenstrual cravings were on the lam, fleeing from the Midol you were mainlining into your cramp infested body.
Walking to the bank, my ass feels wedged into my usually trusty jeans, like sausage squished into it's casing, they feel so tight my bum isn't even jiggling.. there is simply not enough room! I wonder if I've gained weight.. It's certainly possible I may have packed on the pounds in this city of thousands of restaurants, with no girlfriends to be crushingly honest.. or my mom who - god bless her - just comes out with it..
"You're ass is a little big."
"Yeah.. just a bit, still looks great, just thought you'd wanna know."
"Shit. Thanks mom."
We have a deal my mom and I. I certainly don't hesitate when it's my turn to tell her she's indulged in one too many cookies. But without my A team.. I've been left to my own ass guaging devices here in New Yawk. The Surge isn't much help. If he gets to touch my big ol' bum, he's a happy man. And he's no dummy.
"Does my butt look big in these?"
"Hell no! Nice butt, love the butt, bring the butt to me." No hesitation. He may be up in the night when it comes to many matters of a woman's heart, but he knows a small hesitation when his wife proffers The Butt Question could be fatal. And so it's up to me.
I found myself looking at more women's butts today than The Surge let loose at the Playboy mansion. I try to find a butt that I think is my size, and then see if I think said butt is big. It's tricky work, trying to find your butt on another woman. You've gotta be honest with yourself.. A few times I've tried to trick The Surge into pointing out a butt that's similar to mine, in hopes he'd be more honest about somebody elses' butt... and in that clever way, I can find out what he REALLY thinks about my developing derriere. But he's smart, that one. He's onto me.
"There.. That girl in the white tank top! She's about my size, right?"
"You're waaaay smaller than she is." See! He didn't even look. Sharp as a tack, he is. So here I sit, on the very butt in question, wondering...