This morning was a “daaaaaamn” kind of morning. You know the kind, where you wake up with the instant realization that that you slept a bit wrong and as you sit up your neck begins unleashing a slew of profanity that would even cause the late Richard Pryor to cautiously pause and reflect that you have one pissed off neck. As you sit on the edge of your bed you attempt the simplest of side to side neck stretches and as you do so your entire world begins moving in slow motion. Then as you attempt to curse out the pain, the pain takes up all your oxygen and most of you vocal ability and all you can really muster is a very softly and slowly spoken, “daaaaaaaaaammmmmnnnnn.”
So yeah, it was an orange juice and ibuprofen breakfast. One of the things you can count on in these situations is the thought of when you last got a massage and if there is any stock or old Star Wars figurines you could sell in order to get the funds to have a traveling masseuse… sorry, massage therapist (as they prefer to be called) make a house call and squeeze, press, and pummel some of your tightened muscles into submission and relaxation.
While fondly remembering my last massage I recalled a conversation that the massage therapist and I had. To give credence to this conversation I’d like to point out a few things. You know when you were younger… or last week, or maybe twenty minutes ago while you were working out, one of the universal attributes that most people seem to equate to a higher yumminess score on the attraction scale has to do with a lovely and well sculpted gluteus maximus. I’m not even going to talk about how many times did that damn Buns of Steel tape. You might laugh, but at my peak, I cracked three different toilet seats.
There is something gravitational about an individual’s neither regions that is renowned for pulling eyes in its direction. This happen when the back region in question is departing from groups of people, random strangers, or spouses of thirty or more years. On the average, people like to check out derrieres. There’s really no polite way to say it. Also, this is not a sexist thing. It applies to men and women alike, and perhaps 99.9% of the Mammalia phylum… or mammals in general. Not to mention, people are constantly checking out their own butts. When people go shopping for new jeans what is the key purchasing point… if your hinder looks good the sale is ensured.
I remember having the occasional flutter of adolescent desire and imagine the “cute girls” having that “whose got a cute butt” conversation where my name might come up at some point in the discussion. Of course nowadays, I’m just excited that I still have something that resembles a butt as opposed to piece of particle board with a crack in the middle… no one likes falling victim to flat butt syndrome.
Still, one term that is generally used in describing a tushies magnetism and discussional fine points is its firmness, nay, its tightness. That being said, there is an important clarification that needs to be made. It’s considered a positive thing to HAVE a tight ass, as opposed to BEING a tight ass. These are two very different things, with very different meanings, and I felt the clarification was noteworthy.
Likewise, and this is what I wanted to get to about the conversation I had with my last massage therapist, which also needs to be clarified. When your massage therapist tells you that you have a tight ass, this is not a compliment… do not say thank you. Trust me on this. They will never find it as amusing as you do. In fact, they will never find it amusing… ever.
Google Images, key words: sore neck, massage therapist, looking at butt in mirror, and working out.