It was a warm and cozy Christmas with fondue and fireplaces and family. Late nights and big meals and two little boys who were beside themselves with excitement over the whole thing. Chicken hats and cannelloni, a replacement weed whacker from a grandma who believes in second chances and lots and lots of Star Wars stuff.
I did manage to finish the jammies, bit by bit during the days leading up to Christmas Eve. A seam here. A seam there. Then when we realized that Clementine didn't have a stocking and so I quickly sewed her a sweet little doll. She will get her stocking next year, if I remember in time. Poor third babies really get the short end of the stick, I am realizing.
She is such a good baby. We became somewhat alarmed two weeks ago when she got fussy. I think we might have PTSD from Sawyer and all of his screaming for the first FOUR MONTHS of his existence. But Clementine was just gassy and once we figured out that she needs to belch like a beer guzzling frat boy after each feeding, she has been much, much happier. All smiles for dad and the hint of a giggle for big brother Jack.
I am going to go out on a limb here and talk about something that no one wants to talk about. I have a pretty good idea of who my readers are and who might be offended by this, but I am willing to risk it. Friends, family, friends of friends, family of friends (hi Connie!), coworkers, former students (who knew Mrs. Ross likes to say the F word so much?), random perverts who googled "hippie nudists" or "naked pee pee boy" and got my blog, and others. But I am going to do what has to be done here.
Today we are going to talk about my butt.
(Oh sorry, did you think we were going to discuss gun control? Maybe next time.)
In case you have never noticed (please tell me you have never noticed!!), I have no butt. No booty. No junk in the trunk. No cushion for the... Well, you get the idea. In addition to being unattractive, my flat butt is also the source of some serious discomfort for me. Remember my falling down pants? This is a battle that I fight on a daily basis. No belt can keep these britches up for long. It's a constant tugging and squirming and sagging. Not pretty. I am not even going to tell you about the underwear situation because I still have my pride. Barely.
No jeans were made for the buttless. Shopping for pants, jeans especially, is an absolute nightmare for me and whoever has been dragged along to discuss back pocket positions and embellishments and whiskering and which wash is most flattering. And this is an exhausting conversation because NO JEANS EVER LOOKED GOOD ON MY FLAT ASS. Ever. So then I hang my head in defeat and buy nothing.
But that's not all! No padding on my posterior means I cannot sit for long on wooden chairs. I start wiggling around and have to sit on my hands until those pointy butt bones cut off the circulation to my fingers and then I have to be that weirdo who is standing around at the back of the room during the staff meeting.
You know that they have butt implants, right? Instead of getting a boob job, I could get a butt job.
Let's segue, shall we? I promise we will talk about my butt again real soon. Our friends always host a wild New Years party in their awesomely cavernous Victorian era house. This gathering often results in a horrendous hangover and/or stitches in Brent's forehead. This year they had a Christmas party instead and made it a white elephant gift exchange. Now I am usually pretty bad at this sort of thing, but I found canned spotted dick at Fred Meyer and was feeling good about my white elephant contribution.
It was one of those games where you can steal other people's gifts a certain number of times or whatever. Instead of paying attention, I was wearing a sleeping baby and nonchalantly hovering over the hors d'oeuvres table, stuffing my face while the game was being played. Brent played our number and got some sort of slot machine liquor dispenser which would soon be collecting dust in our garage. There were boisterous shouts and peals of laughter coming from the living room as the game wore on. Meanwhile I kept on eating Cheetos. Suddenly I heard Brent shouting my name, an eruption of hysterics, and he came bursting through the door triumphantly waving a little black victory flag.
Only it wasn't a flag at all. Brent had stolen a spanx-style butt enhancement garment! We were now the proud owners of padded underwear!
And now, because I apparently have no shred of decency left, I will post pictures of my butt on the internet. Mentally prepare yourself for what you are about to see.
I know, right? I KNOW.
(I had to ask Brent to stitch the photos together like this. When he finished I wanted him to put a before and after label on each one. "Uh, I'm pretty sure you don't need to do that," he replied.)
So here's to 2013! The year my pants will finally stay up. (I hope you got everything you had ever wanted for Christmas, too.)
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Thanks for the mention Cassadie, love your story and hope the Booty is comfortable. I could have told you how to get a booty naturally but it would require a weight gain of about 50-60 pounds and that comes with it's own set of problems so this seems like a better solution. Happy New Year and hope to see you in the months ahead. If you keep writing I'll keep reading.
ReplyDeleteConnie
Two things. One: Calvin Klein jeans. I have no idea what magic they possess, but I go from nothin' to somethin' in the time it takes to put on a pair of pants. Give them a try. The padded booty may be an actual comfort now, but might get a bit hot in July.
ReplyDeleteTwo: The worst white elephant gift I ever received (and could not dump) was a live hamster. LIVE. HAMSTER. Who bit. And took three years to die. I definitely would have rather had the Sheena Easton tape. Or the padded undergarment.