Not until I was almost there. I didn’t notice until I was almost there. I walked 1.2 miles. Or 2 kilometers. Or about 2,000 steps. And it wasn’t the whole time, but for at least some portion of that journey my dress was hiked up past my bum. Beyond the bum. The bum was sticking out for the world to see. The bum was covered with leggings. But we all know a legging covered bum is still a bum on display.
My backpack had trapped the rogue cloth at the base of my back. And held it hostage until, almost to my destination, only a few steps from where I was aiming to be, I realized by bountiful booty was exposed. Quickly pulling the dress down, the damage was done. The people had seen. The joke had been told. And my butt was the butt of the joke.
But it’s not super embarrassing, really. A little. But I’m not gonna stress about it. I was blissfully unaware the entire time. Had my headphones in and was completely lost in daydream world. I do not know the people I walked past. And frankly, I’ve got a pretty nice ass. I may be round and lack conventional beauty, but my round booty ain’t bad. The folks who happened to get a glance at my sizable tuckus during my not quite Lady Godiva moment did not get a bad view. This I know to be true.
Last night was the night another truth was revealed to me. I couldn’t sleep. Which happens pretty regularly. I was puttering around my room talking to myself in a Russian accent. Which happens pretty regularly. And I happen to catch sight of myself in the mirror. And I saw it. Shimmering in the light. A white hair. My first white hair. Or at least the first one that I’ve seen. There are probably more. But this little fucker was not very good at hiding itself. And it got plucked. Plucked and stared at. I stared at that little bastard for a good 73 seconds. Held it against a dark backdrop. Held it up against the light. Just looked at it for a long-ass time.
It’s happening. Of course it is. The time always comes. Aging. It happens. And it’s not a bad thing. But it’s a sobering thing. And the thinking of health, happiness and history happens. Gotta be healthy to be happy. Gotta be happy to be healthy. Gotta learn from history. My history. Your history. Their history. Take those historical lessons and apply them to your life to be as healthy and happy as possible.
It’s like all those stupid ‘Life Hack’ articles tell us, right? Do what you love. Love what you do. Do who you want. Love who you do. Drink a little red wine. Eat some organic shit. Get enough sleep. Laugh. Earn those laugh lines. Learn. Constantly. Because we never really know, do we? These words of wisdom are here because we’re all a little unsure of how to do this. I’m not the only one who’s playing at this whole grown up thing. I don’t fucking know. But if I fake it ’til I make it something will come. Something will stick and eventually I’ll be able to wear my head of white hair with pride.
Eventually. If I’m lucky and I follow these guidelines. Or at least aspire to follow them. Cause let’s be honest, I’m never gonna get enough sleep. I’m gonna drink more than a little red wine. The shit I’m eating will more often than not NOT be organic. But I’ll make an attempt at it. I’ll sign up for CrossFit and then find excuses not to go. I’ll eat the pizza and regret not going to CrossFit. But such is life. And hopefully someday I’ll be able to walk around with my beautiful bottom accidentally sticking out and not give a damn. Cause I’ll be happy. And moderately healthy. And making my own history. All while exposing my bodacious booty to the world.