Excuse Me, Butt...

Talk about your low rise jeans 

Sunday brunch in Studio City. I'm sitting in a hip establishment with Maura, a wonderful gal who's been putting up with me since 7th grade, and we're kvetching about life, and these days, there's plenty to kvetch about, when suddenly, I notice something alarming beaming in my general direction -- a very prominent butt crack, courtesy of a gal's way-too-low low rise jeans. "Oh my f'n G," I shriek, frightening Maura. "What's wrong?" she asks. I can barely form a declarative sentence. "Deeply disturbing... butt... crack... sighting." "Where?" "Over there." Maura cranes her neck counter-clockwise to take it all in, and I do mean, all. "Ew," she says. Maura is much more controlled and lady-like than the SJG. We spend the rest of Sunday brunch debating whether I should go over to the young exhibitionist and drop the following bombshell: "Excuse me, madam, but your ginormous butt crack is showing, for all the world to see, and it's not pretty." Ultimately, we decide to let Butt Crack Gal hoist with her own petard.

"Don't you love when the SJG goes all Shakespearean?"

"Well, she was an English major, you know."