Why is everyone obsessed with my ass?
This year I put on weight after going on birth control to please my ex, Mr. Huge. BIG MISTAKE, and I mean BIG. I got depressed and fat, but fortunately enlightened to the fact that when women fall in love, we also fall stupid. I'll never do anything again to please a man who doesn't respect my body!
But I digress .... now I'm working with a personal trainer -- and I mean work -- he's busting my ass into marathon shape! So in spite of the fact that I was blessed with a great figure, right now it's concealed in a soft, cuddly layer of blubber. And I already regret the day when in just a few months, the topic of my ass will be "so last year."
You see, I am now wearing size 12 petite jeans and they're still a little snug. My mother wants me to buy bigger jeans and I don't know about you, but buying the perfect pair of jeans, regardless of your size, is like getting a master's degree in personal humiliation. It takes weeks of research! And I wonder, what's the big fucking deal? So what if my ass is big now? Who really gives a rat's ass? It's as if my entire person, mind and soul included, is overshadowed by this monstrosity that clings to my backside, like a tumor. I'm not supposed to wear these fat jeans because apparently, God forbid, you can see that I'm fat and I have to hide the fact from the world, like David Copperfield making the Empire State Building disappear in a little black dress.
Horror of horrors! The repercussions of this are tragic! BOTTOM LINE: in my current state, you can bet your ass no man will even look at me! No man will ask me out on a date! No man will ever marry me or want to be the father of my children! In short, I'll never be someone's piece of ass!
And if all they see when they look at me is that Mount Everest of a rump, how will they even notice my shimmering blue eyes? My ability to saunter in stilleto heels? My big boobs? Yes, how come no one complains about the size of my boobs? For heaven's sake, isn't the possession of tits and ass a valued commodity?
The only people who pester me about my ass are the people who care about me the most. Someone's always trying to chew my ass about my jeans. "What did Maria wear? Is she making an ass out of herself in those jeans?" My ass is blemish on my otherwise impeccably perfect self; the Scarlet letter ASS I must wear because of the heinous crime of being well-endowed in the rear; oh the shame I cause to my family, all of whom have perfect supermodel bodies, of course!; so I'm not the black sheep, but the morally reprehensible black ASS of the family; oh woe is me, all I'll ever amount to is an apprentice to Kirstie Alley!
(And let's not even get into arms. Yes, arms. I've got enviable arms. And my mother, whose triceps have been long neglected, thinks that I have to cover arms and ass in black in order to be presentable.)
Here's what the people who don't care about me the most have to say about my ass:
1. My gay friend, Mr. Gerald Kosher, thinks I look adorable. And I do. He says, if a man doesn't haul ass to love and adore you as you deserve, he's not worth it.
2. My personal trainer, Mr. Tough Nuts, continually tells me I've got a great figure and athletic body with much grace and flexibility. He continually praises me on my form. Today, he patted me on the back and said "you're solid." (And no, he's not just saying that because I'm paying up the ass for personal training.)
3. The other day at the gym, I went to the restroom and when I came back out I went to the cardio room to get my ass in gear on the treadmill. The woman on the bike and I started gossiping. She confessed that "girls will be girls," and that my ass had been the subject of conversation between her, another client and my trainer. She said that they -- these two skinny, tall gals -- admired the "firmness, height and lift" of my ass!
This is me, my ass and I. Love it or leave it. You know the phrase, "as long ass you're happy." Well, I am happy in my kick-ass body. So BUTT OUT!
Reverse psychology has been a great boost to my ass-esteem. People who care about me who mean well: you're a pain in the ass. All of the assenine comments I've heard lately about not showing my elephantine back side to the world actually make me want to wear those jeans in proud defiance!
P.S. Thanks for caring about me ...