I don't have a large bottom, to be fair, it isn't that small either, but it is where it should be — on the back of my body, just about equidistant between my head and my feet. This is in itself something quite miraculous when I stop to consider just how long it has been being a bottom for. It is capable of wobbling under the influence of a well placed hand, but doesn't run amok without control when naked; it is a fine bottom, even though I do say so myself. Sadly, it seldom sees the light of day, and other than some recent rather scrumptious attention, it really goes quite unloved and somewhat unnoticed. Now that I have that off of my chest, on with the job in hand!
I don't have a large bottom, and it generally goes unnoticed as I have just mentioned, that is until it becomes uncomfortable. You all know the feeling of getting a numb bum from sitting on something that wasn't designed to be sat upon for so long? You exercise enthusiasts know what it's like when your piriformis is tight, or your glutes aren't firing; miserable, performance threatening, bad bottom muscle behaviour. However, my self-effacing backside came to my attention on Thursday when walking through a busy town centre - more of this in a moment.
To set the scene I want you to imagine a rather humid, wet day; a bit grey and depressing, you know the kind...British summer weather, day. I was walking through the town and as I passed a bus stop I heard a late middle-aged man, who was speaking at the top of his voice say to a fellow bus stop resident "well, it all gets a bit difficult [pause for dramatic effect] when you keep dying." My interest was immediately piqued. Without wishing to make sweeping generalisations or commit some disgraceful stereotyping, I did wonder if it meant he was some kind of latent hippy, and was referring to tie-dying, or was he in fact an unfortunate — or perhaps that should be fortunate soul, who had incredible health issues? I was fascinated and intrigued by such a snippet, and as I carried on walking I pondered the meaning behind what the man had said. It made me smile as I chewed over the various connotations; and the lady who was walking towards me smiled back, we made eye contact, said hello and she took her smile away with her, as did I. A pleasant enough stranger encounter which brightened me enormously, and I'd like to think it did her too?
A while later this surprising little gem was still making me smile (don't judge me), I wanted to find the man, to sit and have coffee with him so that I could understand the meaning of his sentence, but then again part of the intrigue was not knowing what he was actually talking about. Incredibly, he was soon knocked into second place on the 'invite to coffee' list, when I came within ear shot of a young lad just in time to hear him say to his mum - "she used to be a Disney princess!" What an accolade I thought, how wonderful I thought, but it was sadly put in to context when his mother asked if it was at Euro Disney or America. I was saddened, I had hoped she had been a real Disney princess, complete with ball gown, glossy tresses and a prince in tow. Needless to say my inner smile factory kicked in once again, only this time it produced a tiny giggle: and once again I made eye contact with someone coming towards me, we said hello and he smiled, before he took his elderly body around the shops, only now with a glint in his eye and hopefully, like me a warm heart.
So what's this all got to do with my derriere? Well the ludicrousness of all the smiling and giggling was wonderful. The intriguing snippets of information I had gleaned kept my busy brain occupied, and the lovely little — and quite intimate interactions I had experienced, made my heart happy. I was so engaged in the little tableaus that had played out before me, that I hadn't noticed a denigration of duty in the underwear department. The throes of walking had caused the right side of my underwear to creep away from its rightful place, reneging the responsibility of clasping my buttock and keeping everything comfortable — (you probably all know the wedgie feeling - except for any young guns out there who were brought up to think that thongs were 'big pants'). As I tried to encourage the errant leg hole back to its rightful place, I assumed the most peculiar and ungainly gait. I tried as best I could to modify my walking to prevent further slippage, but the result was just a weird slow motion rendition of Chubby Checker's The Twist. In a town centre riddled with CCTV, there was no way I was going to shove my hand down the back of my trousers to right the situation, as I would have been an Internet sensation before finishing my shopping and getting home.
The situation then began to deteriorate as the right leg of my undies somehow communicated to the left leg that it was having a great time, and that it should also join in; so it did! This situation is probably something you can all relate to, it isn't something to be maligned? For those of you who are uninitiated, it is hugely uncomfortable — you believe that everyone can see what feels like a great big wodge of material that has puckered up between your butt cheeks, and made itself at home just below your waistband. You can feel the gaze of those behind you, convinced that they can see your naked buttocks through your trousers or skirt — after all, it's quite reasonable to expect people to suddenly develop superhuman powers just as your undies fail, isn't it? However, on this occasion, as the said material migrated north, and as my walk threatened to become something out of a Monty Python sketch, it was something else to make me smile a smile that would pass from face to face.
What with the raging contest that was going on beneath my trousers, and my happiness from my earlier encounters with my fellow townies, these two simple things had lightened my spirit, and their combined magic enabled me to care less — much, much less, about the stuff I was dragging around in my heart when I had initially arrived in the town. I surrendered to the moment and the silliness of it all, and my heartfelt smile travelled for miles. I counted six more people that I made eye contact with, that I smiled at, who smiled back; six reciprocal infatuations, six ten second love affairs. It was miraculous and wonderful, funny, intimate and a treasure. I can highly recommend wearing underwear that does not know its rightful place in the world, as it can bring about great inner peace and happiness.