Last week I caught Jeff checking out my ass as I was getting dressed. I was feeling pretty pleased with myself until he delivered his verdict:
"Yours is a butt that is destined to quit."
I think he meant it as a compliment. You know, like, Something so buoyant is doomed to fall. It's simple physics. I mean, imagine, if you will, if Sir Isaac Newton had just plopped himself beneath Kim Kardashian's hind-quarters instead of that apple tree. Same thing, just would have taken longer.
A friend told me recently that her father had once said to her, "There are tit men and there are ass men. You're going to attract a lot of ass men." It was the same kind of backhanded compliment (he could have just said, "You do not have large breasts," right?), only it came from her dad. So I guess I should count myself lucky that the inspector assessing my, erm, assets is my husband.
Besides, the laugh is totally going to be on him. When my ass finally does quit, pulling that "I've fallen and I can't get up" cord they install in old people's bathrooms, who do you think is going to have to take care of it?
Not me, I'll tell you that much. I can't even see it.
OMG, if it quits, how will I even know?
You guys, what if it's been playing, like, FarmVille on Facebook instead of working this whole time?