I am so tired of the constant arguing. The never ending debate. Which is worse: a No-Butt or a Big-Butt? Clearly, it is far worse to have a No-Butt than some junk in the trunk. FAR. WORSE. My bootylicious friends are all ‘Oh, it’s sooo terrible to look sexy in jeans! Oh, it’s so terrible to have curves! Oh boo hoo!’ So what if there’s a gap in the back of your jeans when you sit down? So what if your hips are smaller than your hiney? Um . . . there’s this new invention . . . it’s called a belt.
Us No-Butters have far worse problems. First off, the no-butt doesn’t look sexy. Ever. Not even in jeans. For example, my butt is basically concave. Instead of a luscious curve in back, there’s all this extra fabric flapping around (See picture below). Literally. And let me tell you, no one has ever done a song about flat bottomed girls. Whereas “you other brothers (and sisters) can’t deny”* that the big patootied have lots and lots of songs written in their honor.
Not only are our ‘butts’* not memorialized in song, wedgies are a major problem. See, some of us don’t have the cheek to keep the undies in place. It’s a constant battle. The buttless have to learn how to inconspicuously redistribute their undergarments and keep them in place. ON A FLAT SURFACE. Which is OK until you have to move, breathe, or (oh dear god!) bend over. Totally hot.
And while we’re on the topic of underwear . . . imagine having your underwear be too tight in the hips but having inches of extra fabric in the rear. Again, not a pretty site. Form fitting pants are troublesome. And it’s not the panty lines that are a problematic. It’s the ginormous mess of panty wrinkles. And we’re not talking barely-there wrinkles — we’re talking hey-I-need-a-place-to-store-the-entire-contents-of-my-purse folds. Class-eeee!
And then there’s the matter of sitting. When you don’t have a butt, you are sitting on bones. Hard, pointy BONES. It’s kind of like sitting on two wedges of concrete. Those who have a flourishing rear get to sit on their own personal memory foam pillow. Hmmm . . . which is more comfortable: concrete or a pillow?
Also, the No-Butt presents serious fashion challenges. There are about to be more intense visual aides*** so the squeamish may want to cut their losses and stop reading. People with true gluteus MAXimi can flaunt their fabulousness. I, on the other hand, cannot flaunt what I do not have. Thus, I have to cover it up. In the picture below I am wearing running tights. But I have to cover-up the no-butt with a shirt I know I will not want to put on. Note how my rear still looks flat even with the padding of a shirt doubled over AND a bulky collar.
Below we have, again, the wrinkles. And proof that the no-butters must always wear long shirts to project the illusion of a curve — no matter how slight. Please note, the pants in the below picture are designed to be form fitting. FORM. FITTING.
Horrific, no? Sadly, a No-Butt was my destiny. Both my parents are No-Butters (Hi Mom! Hi Dad!). I had no chance, genetically speaking. And even though it didn’t come from me, I feel a strange sense of pride when I check Zoey’s diaper and see the two little half moons of her butt curving out and away from her body. My baby’s got back.
* In case you’re wondering why the hell there are quotes around that, I’m referring to a song by Sir Mix A-Lot
** I am using this term in the loosest possible sense as the No-Butters’ bums can only be identified by approximate location, not by sight.
*** Pictures by Niki and Demetri. Even though Niki didn’t want credit for such fine photography.