I’ll ask my backside.

porch

At this point in my life, I consult with my ass before making any critical decisions.

I really do, and it’s quite a relief, since I’m at the age where my brain matter seems to be diminishing. My backside, however, is still growing, and as it expands, it’s getting wiser and wiser.

For example, how did I decide what to wear this morning? I looked in the closet, and asked my bottom  what kind of pants it wanted to wear. The answer was clear: black, expandable, and indestructible.  On the other hand, my boobs colluded with my eyes and chose to burst forth in a colorful tunic top. Right now, honey, I feel just like a car. The bright round headlights are flashing, but it’s that big, stable chassis that’s keeping me on the road.

Once I was dressed, I decided to attack the carbuncle of bills growing on my desk. How did I decide which ones to pay? It was easy. I asked my ass, “which of these will get you tossed to the curb?” Those were paid first.

This afternoon, while I’m watching television, will I stay with a particular show, or look for another option? Well, if I’m physically comfortable, I’ll stick with what I’m watching. However, as soon as I become aware of the fact that my butt hurts, I will change the channel, and try to find a distraction. If the pain in my rear continues, I may even shut the TV off and find something else to do. My backside has better taste in movies and television than most professional critics; I’d offer its services to any of the major news outlets, but I think they prefer to hire horses’ asses.

Moving along, you may be wondering how I will decide what to have for dinner tonight. That’s more complicated than you might think. Many women choose their meals  by considering the amount of weight they can afford to add to their backsides, but I feel that’s too limiting. Besides, my ass is now much bigger than I ever expected it to be, so calories hardly matter. As I forage through the freezer, I usually look at each option and ask, “Will my backside keep quiet after I cook and eat this, or will I be playing a trumpet voluntary for my husband all through the evening?” Alternatively, I might ask “Am I about to consume something I will retain for an unconscionably long time, or will I enjoy a quick release once this repast is over?”

These questions are important because, as you know, while I am undoubtedly old, I am also very happily married. Should a romp be in order, I don’t want my rump to wreck the mood, you know what I mean?

If it’s not, I’ll have a glass of wine to relax. Maybe I’ll have two… but only if that’s what it will take to get my drunk ass to bed.

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