Ohh, burning question…
L.C. Hill
The distinctive chime of my best friend’s text came in while I was letting the dog out. A friend once asked, “Whose fairy godmother just landed?” when he heard it.
I’ll get it in a sec, I thought to myself. My phone was in another room. Then there was another text. And another. And another. It must be serious, I thought. She never texts me that many times in a row. I hurried back to the living room, worried about what I might find there.
“So, flat butts seem to be a reality for most over 40,” the first text read.
“And women really do wear padded butt underwear,” the second informed me.
“Who knew?” the third asked.
“Oh, and Brazilian butt lifts are around $6500 at a plastic surgeon here!” Michelle lives in Alabama. “They have a whole billboard.”
I laughed and then sighed in relief. No one was dead at least.
Memories of an ex-boyfriend telling me my butt was “on the flat side” came rushing back.
“Yeah, ‘cause he’s a flat ass wide butt,” she responded when I reminded her of it.
We’ve been best friends since we were ten years old. Nevermind we’re forty-four. We’ll always resort to name calling anyone who offends the other one. It’s one of the best things about having a lifelong champion of your existence.
I’m in my mid-forties and single. I was twenty-three when I got married and forty when I got divorced. I don’t remember it being this hard when I was single in my early twenties. In my probably diluted and delusional memories, I remember it took about five minutes to primp. Back then I didn’t wear make-up because my skin was perfectly peachy and glowing. Now, I wear all the make-up. I sighed in acquiescence recently when I spent $150.00 on one trip to MAC to buy just a few items.
I didn’t fret much about what to wear back then either. Now, I spend the evening before a date deciding on an outfit while sending pictures to a friend.
“What do you think about this?” or “Do these shoes look right?”
I stand in the mirror debating if my butt looks too flat. I suck in my stomach. “Does it look flat enough? My stomach, not my butt.”
I briefly considered the purchase of padded underwear when Michelle mentioned them. But what happens if I were to break down and get butt padding? Sure, I would look great on dates. My jeans would be filled out in all the right places. I wouldn’t question the flatness of my ass for a second. Until my jeans come off and I’m naked, my ass out in all its flat glory. He tries to grab it but there’s suddenly half the roundness there was five minutes ago when I was still tucked inside a fake butt.
I can’t do it. I can’t buy a fake ass. I’m too real for fake asses even if mine is flattening like a failed souffle. I’ll just have to come to grips with the fact that my body is inverting as I age. My ass is as flat as I’d like my stomach to be, and my stomach is getting the roundness I wish my ass still had. At least if I do find a man, I’ll know he’s not just in it for my perfect body. I guess that rules out sugar daddies. Not men in their seventies, just rich men in their seventies.
“Ohh, burning question…” another text from Michelle chimed in. “Do the padded butt undergarments make it more comfortable to sit on hard chairs?? ‘Cause that is a huge selling point for me.”
On second thought, a little fake wouldn’t hurt anyone…