I'm not going to lie. It's always been with me. The evidence is everywhere. The baby photos. The adolescent photos. The -- oh you get the picture. In many ways, it's a separate entity. No matter how hard I try, I can't get rid of it. Not that I want to. I need it. This thing of mine keeps me from tipping over. It's a protective device. Take yesterday, for instance. There I am in my Homeland, aka Gelson's, waiting at the deli counter for my number to be called. But then, when am I not waiting, metaphorically, for my number to be called? So, I'm waiting, I'm waiting, and wham! I get rear-ended. A gal walking by bumps into the SJG Booty. Her hip. My butt. Bam.
Does the impact send me flying keppy first into the glass case? Let me think about that. No, thank God. I just stand there, grinning. It's my first booty bender not committed on a dance floor. I'm not clear on the rules. I don't have collision insurance for this sort of thing. "Oh, no," the guilty party says. "I'm so so sorry, really, I am. Are you okay?" "I'll live," I say. "Listen, it gets in the way sometimes." We share a laugh. She feels exonerated. I feel self-conscious. I tuck in the booty to avoid additional ambulatory assaults. Despite the incident, I'm sticking with my daily motto:
Exactly.
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