No Ifs, Ands or Butts

I’m just going to go ahead and apologize right off the bat, because this post is mostly going to be about my butt.

You’ve been warned.

This is your last chance to seek a non-butt-centric blog.

Okay, for those of you still with me, what the hell is wrong with you?

Anyway, see, I knew with this whole weight loss thing, I’d be going through some physical changes.  And most of them have been for the better.  The gut is mostly gone, the double chin has faded away, my back and feet don’t hurt as much anymore, and my love handles are now down to the size of mere hand holds now.  All marks in the plus column.

But I’ve gone through most of my adult life with a certain amount of cushion in the posterior that I’ve grown used to over the years.  Comfortable, if not particularly aesthetically pleasant, I knew what I’d be getting whenever I sat down or wore clothes.  Two reliable bits of me that never let me down, in the most literal sense of the term.

Now though?  My butt has betrayed me.  Mostly by its diminishing returns.  To put it bluntly, it feels different when I sit.  I swear I have never been more aware of my tailbone than I am now that there’s a whole lot less flesh padding it.  I’ve noticed that I have to sit differently or else, well, things just don’t feel right down there.  I can’t really describe it better than that.  The cushion is gone, and my anatomy is still scrambling to decide what to do about it.

There’s also the matter of how clothes fit, well, down there.  And really, this is your last warning, because I’m not even sure I want to write this.  But without the added expanse, things wear a little differently.  They’ve got room to move.  And a butt being a butt, there’s really only once place for them to move into.  And that’s not a very comfortable locale.  There aren’t many ways to delicately handle this issue, apart from some very strange methods of walking and the furtive and potentially embarrassing manual dig.  I’m at least learning that thongs will never be for me, but I already had an inkling that was the case; I don’t need a daily demonstration of that fact.

So yes, that’s my life right now.  The strange territory that is my gluteus maximus.  And no, putting it in Latin doesn’t make it any prettier, I know.  But I figure nobody’s left reading by this point anyway.  And of you are, what the hell is wrong with you?


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