… we can look at ourself in the mirror without recognition sometimes. Maybe it’s self-preservation. Maybe it’s denial. Maybe it’s a little of both. Let’s face it, we’ve all had that gasp, heart pounding, gut wrenching moment when we realize who is looking back at us in that mirror. In my book, if you don’t acknowledge things like muffin-tops or back-fat, then they just don’t exist. When you get to my age you learn so many cool tricks to fool yourself into believing that time has been kind to you.
Unfortunately, we sometimes get caught between that bloody rock and a hard place [the mirror and reality] and we finally have to accept what’s there in that reflective surface. CRAP! So I have to wonder…who’s fooling who? Does everyone else see what I’m in complete denial over?
Just the other day I caught sight of my bare ass, and thought to myself, who in their right mind would let something like that go around uncovered?
“Have you no shame girl”, I said to myself as I inspected my mid-life ‘junk’!
Okay, it’s not like I run around naked all the time, although I have to believe my husband would like that since he is, without a doubt an ass man. Oh yes, he’s been known to shimmy his hand down the back of my pants at the most inopportune time like on an escalator at the mall, or when I’m standing next to him talking to someone, or for that matter, any time he can. He is purely evil in this way but at least I know he still likes my ass. [thank God for small favors and let’s just pray he never gets his sight checked]
Now let’s get one thing straight here. I would never, ever, on purpose, put myself in the position of watching this massive flesh floe undulate freely. This was purely an ACCIDENTAL VIEWING. On occasion I get dressed in the bathroom since my closet doesn’t have a heater vent so accidents like this can happen. [Flab and goosebumps are not a good combination under any circumstances]
Now–my B-U-T-T–is not a horrific looking thing by any means [self-denial] but, TIME HAS PROVEN A WORTHY OPPONENT. I remember [yes, my mind is still somewhat in tact] when I used to go shopping for jeans and never ever once gave the idea of ‘shaping jeans’ a second thought. I didn’t have to back in the day because I had a little junk-in-the-trunk as they call it! You know what I mean? I proudly flaunted those lovely round chunks of flesh like a peacock strutting its plume of feathers for all to see.
There used to be definite delineations between my butt cheeks and the back of my thighs. I’d never really given any thought about lift and separation in THAT area because I’d always believed that you only had to consider that problem when it came to your boobs. Those puppies, well, that’s a whole different animal.
Just recently I went to the mall with the sole purpose of buying a new hipper, ripped up, stone washed, gem studded, flesh sucking pair of jeans hoping it would trick the onlookers eye. Yes, mid-life does this to women, at least to those of us who are trying to hold on to the past in hopes that it will make us better looking people in the future. We have to maintain some kind of standards don’t we girls? The last thing I want is for my kids to accuse me of wearing frumpy old ‘granny’ jeans.
Admit it, we’ve all got at least one pair of those hideous baggy denim’s stashed away in our closet somewhere for ‘THOSE’ days when our excess is apparent. You know the ones I’m talking about. They have those big old pleat’s in the front to hide that child-bearing trophy bulge that protrudes between your crotch and your bellybutton. [The one they said would dissipate when you were breastfeeding. Well after 24 years I finally had to give up on that idea because it really doesn’t work.] And even worse, they have those big-ass deep front pockets so you always have a place to put your boobs once the spring has sprung. [If you look hard enough you’ll probably find a few pair of grannie underpants to go with them, the ones we used to refer to as period panties, the ones sitting right next to your now treasured thongs that eliminate fat separation from your first butt-cheek to the little one that grew just below it.]
Well as it turns out, those newer, hipper jeans are not always the best for hiding loose flesh. What I discovered as I hid behind the curtain, is that spandex, as girdle like as it is, is not always as flattering as it professes to be. Yes, it takes an inch off your thighs, and yes it can push and shove your butt into its correct posture, BUT, it also pushes a lot of other things to places you were trying to forget about, ie: the muffin top! Just what I want, something that makes it even worse that it was before!
Another problem with these new jeans, if you don’t happen to be a shaver, is that your belt buckle will always have a little afro. Who on this bloody earth came up with that one-inch zipper? On a Barbie doll this works perfectly fine, but in real life, come on, there is NO WAY this is going to be enough to hold back your pubic hair.
And another thing…whose brilliant idea was it to shred the thigh area? I have to admit, it looks pretty cool when you’re standing up but when you sit down and that stretchy denim pulls itself taut against your skin, well, what comes to mind for me is that old play dough machine you used when you were a kid that allowed you to make spaghetti. WTF?
I guess there’s just no denying that age changes us, remolds us, and sometimes leads us to the place where every quiver, every step, shows our ability to transform into Jello.
I don’t know, maybe there’s something to be said about Granny pants after all!