I’ll start this story in college, when my ass didn’t have a care in the world. My ass and I would go out and party late into the night. My ass was adorable, in a skinny bitch kind of way. It could have been an ass double for one of those Olsen Twins. But the down to earth one that didn’t have the bulimia and a coke addiction.
And then I got married. And I got happy-ass syndrome. You know?
When you’re so happy you get a little fat.
Mainly in the ass.
But just enough to where your husband thinks, oh, yeah, I’d like to back that thang up.
And you’re all, this thang?
And you point to your butt and try to do a sexy booty shake like you’ve seen in rap videos, but it comes off like you’re having some type of diarrhea convulsion, because you’re super-white with no ass shaking abilities whatsoever.
Well, all that convolutionary booty shakin’ paid off because after that, I got pregnant. And then I stopped working out, because I was almost positive that when I jogged, the baby was just going to fall out on the ground, and then I was going to trip over her, and sprain my ankle. So instead of risking a sprain, I started to eat enough marshmallows that my butt started to resemble a lumpy marshmallow.
(kinda looks like shredded wheat, I definitely wasn’t eating any of that)
Then I was done being pregnant, and I had developed a very severe case of I don’t take care of myself anymore, because I have a baby now, and if I stop mommy-ing for a while and do some yoga, my baby will miss me forever and forget who I am.
Plus, I developed a very strong addiction to M&Ms.
And as a result, my ass got even sadder.
And apparently, based on my drawing, it started to look like a boob.
I got pregnant again, and the cycle repeated itself, this time with way more marshmallows, M&Ms, and self-pity. So my ass did what any other self respecting ass would do in this type of situation:
It got bigger.
Now it looks like something that could give you nightmares.
Couple my pregnancies, and poor eating habits with my increasing age, and I’ve got a rump that no amount of Spanks, or dim lighting can rectifiy.
But I’m okay with that. Because my ass has always been there for me, It’s always given me a cozy place to sit, and my husband likes a lady with a little junk in her trunk. It’s like a badge of honor.
…Or it’s just plain scary, and I need to get off of it and do some damn pilates already.