Mutiny… is… afoot…!!! Seemingly over-night and without my permission my own body has betrayed me! I should also note that I feel slightly betrayed by all of the women around me who are older than me (looking at YOU, Mom!) and never told me that this would happen. Isn’t it your cosmic duty to pass all of your knowledge about womanhood on to the next generation of women?! I am now, sadly, aware that I have truly been living in a fantasy land in my head. The reality of this sorrowful day is that I am not, in fact, standing still in time… my once effortless physique is actually changing with each year that passes. Twenty-five just feels too soon…
You’ve seen Despicable Me. You know who Gru is—the baddest bad guy who also happens to be shaped like a bowling ball with legs. (Similarly silhouetted is the notorious Batman villain, Oswald Chesterfield Cobblepot, aka the Penguin ala Danny DeVito.) If you do not know what these characters look like, get on the Google right now. Done? Okay. Keeping those figures in mind allow me to elaborate on my lamentable occasion: one day I was 24 years old and looked pretty much awesome. The next day I was 25 and awoke to discover that my ass had literally fallen off.
The first thing I noticed was that my once buoyant derriere had transitioned from a traditionally round shape to SQUARE (!!!!!!!!!). I MEAN REALLY?!? Like, take a couple hamburger patties and pat them on the edges to give them a little bit of a square-ness and THAT is exactly what I’ve got going on. IS THIS A THING?! Do women have square-shaped rump roast?! Also, gravity seems to be drawing the junk-in-the-trunk noticeably nearer the back of my KNEE-CAPS than, Oh I don’t know—somewhere at the equator of my length!!! (1- Yes, all the caps are necessary thank you very much, and 2- don’t worry I will draw you plenty of pictures.) Finally, by some grotesque miracle of nature my booty appears to have taken a migration UNDER my torso. That’s right the whole thing is melting down and forward. MELTING! Thank you, Mother Nature, for my now completely flat back which seamlessly transitions into the back of my thighs—Gru-butt.
Honest-to-God one day I got out of the shower, glanced in the mirror, whipped around to John with a look of horror, and shouted at him, “Where did my butt go?!” And we stood in awkward silence for a moment. Was it a silence of respectful mourning? Or a pained silence in shared recognition of what he had previously been too afraid to tell me? I may never know… (For the record: John hates that I talk about this. He says that he loves me and I am beautiful, BUT he has not denied the aforementioned alteration.)
Horror is the only response to this revelation. Horror at the discovery of a stranger where my familiar once was. Horror at the realization that this happened without my noticing! A woman deserves some time to adjust to this kind of thing, and I cannot get over the fact that I was so caught off guard. I mean, I might have prepared! I might have done some squats or something! Time and gravity have worked their black magic here. What I once took for granted because “I’m not 30 yet!” I can no longer claim. Young ladies, be forewarned! If you never do another squat again, you too will lose something precious!