I don’t think you have been properly introduced to my constant companion, Ass. Ass, meet Reader. Reader, meet Ass. I mean no disrespect by acknowledging that Ass needs its own zipcode, monicker, and personality. I merely think it is polite to acknowledge the entity that has followed me around for my entire life.
Where did I meet Ass? Hmmm, probably in middle schoool, back in the 70′s, when designer jean pockets were more important to me than world peace and being well-hydrated. I specifically remember a pair of dark Jordache jeans with white loops stitched on the pockets. There was another pair with rust-brown thread “V” shapes stitched across each bun, the name brand escapes me (how ironic is that, sorry manufacturer). Okay, now I remember, Calvin Klein, but the knock-offs were spelled Calvin Cline! hahahaha
Anyway, being a pretty athletic chica, Ass kept to itself during my youth, and we never had any issues. Same relationship continued through college and my 20s. I did my thing, Ass did its thing. We didn’t really need counseling or any intervention until after the kids were born. Like any intimate relationship, add some kids to the mix, and the whole dynamic changes. (Understatement)
There have been many interventions on my part, many attempts at healing our relationship: decades of aerobics, personal trainer in 2008, exercise ball, multiple DVDs, kettle ball class, Avon Breast Cancer Three Day -during which I literally tried to walk my Ass off along the Hudson River and into Manhattan, elipticle cross training at the JCC, belly dancing, ZUMBA, vowing to stand at a podium instead of flopping down behind my classroom desk, surgery to remove incredible pain from my Ass (L5 disc), more surgery to finish the job . . . I give up.
So, I have accepted Ass. I gave Ass a little decoration when I turned 40, a nice mini tattoo just to say “no hard feelings”. Still, Ass does nothing to improve our relationship. However, being a product of years of psychoanalysis I understand that I only control my feelings and my actions, not the actions of Ass.
Therefore, I gave Ass its own personality. As of 2009, Ass was no longer mine, as in “my ass”. Ass is like the Cheese, it stands alone.
Hurray for Ass.
Since then, my girlfriends have learned to accept Ass as one of the girls. When I send out the weekly “let’s walk” email, I’m careful to include Ass by describing the adorable or athletic skort or shorts that Ass will be wearing for that week’s walk. Ass is all about fashion. Now that Ass has gone public, she doesn’t always hide behind the traditional baggy or black uniform. Actually, Ass’ favorite skort is a floral number. Current fave shorts are plaid, several varieties. I think Ass is a little full of herself these days! ha
You know how one thing leads to another? Well, seeing Ass get too big for her britches (hahahahaha) Leg had to get in on the deal. More about that, later.
As a long time friend of Ass, I’m happy to see you’re finally accepting her. She really is very nice and cute, and she does look sassy in those little floral numbers. I wish Belly ~ my long time arch enemy ~ looked as good. Maybe if I bought her cute things to wear she’d be kinder to me.
And, Ass and Belly have decorations in common. Yours is more rad!
[...] with Ass…that part of her body that has vexed her for years. (Read about it in her blog, GirlfriendWalkingandTalking).I'd like to think I'm that mature about Belly, but I'm not. I don't care much for Belly and I'd [...]