Tuesday, April 06, 2004
Baby got back...
There are a few pluses to my current workplace: its proximity to some cool places, the lack of boring, repetitive numbers, no calling companies to demand money.
But, like any workplace, there are a few down sides - no toasters, no sink, no kitchen, for that matter. To clean anything we have to go to the restroom. Which I don't like all that much, but it's not like I have a choice.
However, there is one downside that I'm distinctly not fond of - windows. There are windows or glass walls everywhere. I walk down the hall - windows. I go outside - windows. It's a building with lots and lots of windows. Which means it's a building with lots and lots of reflections.
Now, most of the time I happen to like my reflection. It's a nice one, in my humble estimation. And I like to think that I have a pretty realistic idea of what my reflection tells me. When I look in the mirror I see neither a scrawny scarecrow nor Violet Beauregarde - post blueberry. Just good ol' Rubenesque me.
But these days, as I walk down the halls of the building, I am catching reflections of my profile far more often than I have in the past. And I am noticing something in those reflections that I can't say I've really noticed before, despite being the sort of person to check all sides in the mirror before leaving my apartment in the morning, to make sure everything is in place and looks becoming.
Damn, I have a big ass.
Not that I've ever thought I had a petite one, mind you. I don't think I'm that delusional. You know, big girl=big ass. And I've sort of been okay with that, because I've seen women - both big and small - entirely lacking in asses and I know that I would never want my ass to cease being generally proportional to the rest of my body.
But I don't think I'd ever noticed my ass's shelf-like properties before. There are times I nearly stop in the halls to stare at it, wondering whether a can of Coke or a bottle of beer would sit comfortably on my protruding backside. It's not a pleasant thought.
I know that part of it was my weight gain a couple of years ago, where more weight than I'd like rested in the southern portions of my body than I had previously been accustomed to. Age has a nasty habit of playing such tricks on poor unsuspecting girls. And I wonder if my weight loss of the last year (only ten more pounds before I'm back to where I was before the weight gain - yea!) has come mainly from other body parts (not the breasts, oh please G-d, don't take away my breasts!) than my derriere, causing its size to seem bigger than ever before.
And yet... Men seem to like it. Over the course of the last few years, the few men with whom I have cavorted practically seemed to worship my ass, second only to (not surprisingly) my heaving bosom. I've never understood it, what with my ol' gluteus maximus being my least favorite body part. But even as recently as WriterBoy - who described my junk in the trunk as "nice and solid" - guys seem pretty happy with the appearance of said booty.
When quizzed, one past lover said he wasn't sure, but it was probably because of proportion, that my waist to hip ratio was pleasing to men, and he definitely enjoyed the view from behind, despite having preferred svelte girls before he met me.
So, though Dresden porcelain would probably be perfectly safe resting upon my buttocks in an earthquake with no sticky tape required, I'll continue to swing my hips and shake my money-maker as if they were the most delectable sight on earth.
Hey, it's the only ass I have. Might as well make the most of it. Besides, there's always my bodacious cleavage and fantastic legs to help even things out.
But, like any workplace, there are a few down sides - no toasters, no sink, no kitchen, for that matter. To clean anything we have to go to the restroom. Which I don't like all that much, but it's not like I have a choice.
However, there is one downside that I'm distinctly not fond of - windows. There are windows or glass walls everywhere. I walk down the hall - windows. I go outside - windows. It's a building with lots and lots of windows. Which means it's a building with lots and lots of reflections.
Now, most of the time I happen to like my reflection. It's a nice one, in my humble estimation. And I like to think that I have a pretty realistic idea of what my reflection tells me. When I look in the mirror I see neither a scrawny scarecrow nor Violet Beauregarde - post blueberry. Just good ol' Rubenesque me.
But these days, as I walk down the halls of the building, I am catching reflections of my profile far more often than I have in the past. And I am noticing something in those reflections that I can't say I've really noticed before, despite being the sort of person to check all sides in the mirror before leaving my apartment in the morning, to make sure everything is in place and looks becoming.
Damn, I have a big ass.
Not that I've ever thought I had a petite one, mind you. I don't think I'm that delusional. You know, big girl=big ass. And I've sort of been okay with that, because I've seen women - both big and small - entirely lacking in asses and I know that I would never want my ass to cease being generally proportional to the rest of my body.
But I don't think I'd ever noticed my ass's shelf-like properties before. There are times I nearly stop in the halls to stare at it, wondering whether a can of Coke or a bottle of beer would sit comfortably on my protruding backside. It's not a pleasant thought.
I know that part of it was my weight gain a couple of years ago, where more weight than I'd like rested in the southern portions of my body than I had previously been accustomed to. Age has a nasty habit of playing such tricks on poor unsuspecting girls. And I wonder if my weight loss of the last year (only ten more pounds before I'm back to where I was before the weight gain - yea!) has come mainly from other body parts (not the breasts, oh please G-d, don't take away my breasts!) than my derriere, causing its size to seem bigger than ever before.
And yet... Men seem to like it. Over the course of the last few years, the few men with whom I have cavorted practically seemed to worship my ass, second only to (not surprisingly) my heaving bosom. I've never understood it, what with my ol' gluteus maximus being my least favorite body part. But even as recently as WriterBoy - who described my junk in the trunk as "nice and solid" - guys seem pretty happy with the appearance of said booty.
When quizzed, one past lover said he wasn't sure, but it was probably because of proportion, that my waist to hip ratio was pleasing to men, and he definitely enjoyed the view from behind, despite having preferred svelte girls before he met me.
So, though Dresden porcelain would probably be perfectly safe resting upon my buttocks in an earthquake with no sticky tape required, I'll continue to swing my hips and shake my money-maker as if they were the most delectable sight on earth.
Hey, it's the only ass I have. Might as well make the most of it. Besides, there's always my bodacious cleavage and fantastic legs to help even things out.
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United States, California, Los Angeles, San Fernando Valley, English, Carol, Female, 36-40.
