Grandma Butt

We’ve recently had our house remodeled and one of the greatest things about it is our new six panel doors. When we got rid of our crappy-almost-cardboard 1979 doors I also got rid of my cheap Target door mirror. I have replaced it with a big glorious metal framed full length wall mirror that hangs on the other side of the room between our two bedroom windows. It is a huge mirror and has access to a lot of natural light. All good things right? Wrong. It shows all the details, and trust me when I tell you the devil lives in my details. Hunny, I’ve got some details.

This all went down last fall before I started CrossFit or was even considering starting CrossFit. There I was looking at my bare ass in said mirror while my husband lay on our bed staring at the iPad. That’s when I noticed that sometime (hopefully in the recent past) I had developed a nasty case of grandma butt.

***Apparently not everyone knows what grandma butt is just like not everyone knows what a car poo is, and I find that baffling. So let me break it down for you. A car poo is a black chunk of ice and snow that falls off the bottom of your car. They are everywhere this time of year. You have them in the garage and on your driveway and they are all over the roads. They are also totally unrelated to this blog post, but I’m always shocked by how many people don’t know what a car poo is, so consider it a blog post freebee. You’re welcome.

Grandma butt is, as the name implies, a sad fact of the aging body. As you age you lose collagen (God, I miss you collagen), fat and muscle mass. All of these lost ingredients can lead to grandma butt, which is the loose skin one develops at the bottom of their butt cheeks. It kind of hangs there like a turkey wattle. Don’t get excited gentlemen, grandpa butt is alive and well, and just as prevalent as grandma butt. You boys are not immune.

I don’t know if every woman is as eager to point out their flaws to their significant other as I am, but it’s one of my favorite pastimes.

“Babe, I have grandma butt!”

Not looking up from the iPad, “what’s grandma butt”.

I explained it, and he responded, “Babe, you’ve had that for years.”

Inside I gasped in horror that I’d had a turkey wattle for an ass “for years” and not known it. I was also kind of mad because he knew it and didn’t tell me. My friend Libby’s dad is a marriage counselor and he claims that people only get married because they can’t see their own butts. I like this theory, because it means Garry only had one job. ONE JOB, and he failed. So, my grandma butt is now officially his fault and not mine. On the other hand Garry’s completely indifferent reaction reminded me how men really aren’t the least bit particular, and we think they are much bigger critics than they are. In the fifteen years that Garry and I have been together I have been all sorts of shapes and sizes. Although there were times I was pretty sure only one of us should do it with the lights on, he has never complained. Lets face it, dudes like flesh. He likes me jiggly and juicy and he has no complaints about my grandma butt. He’s just pretty happy when he’s getting attention and I’m showing flesh, even if that flesh resembles a turkey wattle.

If you have never been to a Crossfit gym you should Google or Bing CrossFit athletes, and you will see the most perfect derrieres on God’s great earth. After eight years of Garry begging me to join CrossFit and workout with him, it was becoming a viable option. Behind the scenes in this whole scenario we are planning some big celebrations. First there is Garry’s miraculous response to the last three years of cancer treatment, and I’m finishing my Masters of Jurisprudence in Healthcare Compliance Law this May. This summer we will do our usual week long raft trip, but we are also going to Costa Rica, and I have been buying bikinis like crazy. One in particular is a little problematic. For one thing it is not age appropriate for a 45 year old, but whatever, I’m leaving the country and mommy’s still got it. I’m wearing it. It’s super cheeky. It’s basically a thong with little mud flaps to cover my butt cheeks. A slight breeze and that baby is a thong. I kind of want to rock it, though. Which means I have work to do, unless I can figure out a way to get my crossfit coaches butt on my body.

Garry is, as always, my greatest supporter and fan when he knows I want something. He sees me lifting my butt into place in front of the mirror and will smile and say encouragingly “it’s looking good, Babe. It’s getting better”. Although I’m pretty sure all men are willing to lie to us about how we look out of a survival instinct, I think the turkey wattle is shrinking and being replaced by actual beefy muscle. I’m never going to have the butt I had in my twenties…. But I can have a pretty good butt for a middle age woman who pees her pants when she jumps rope, and I’m totally cool with that. Plus my husband thinks I’m hot.

Lookout Costa Rica, my grandma butt in a pseudo-thong is coming your way.  Sorry. Not Sorry.

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