No, that's not my butt. And I didn't draw it either, though I wish I did. It's a famous Picasso drawing called "Femme". May not be your taste, and you're probably thinking "um, Oliver/Owen/Charlotte/my newborn could do that" but it's one of my faves purely in it's simplicity. Three lines, yet the subject can instantly be identified even by anyone.Anyway, I post it not because of anything art-related. I'm avoiding putting my vents on here today to give you some happy news. Today, I came home, and like every Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday, I immediately changed out of my work clothes to get ready for running - if I don't do it right away, I'll talk myself out of it. As I was undressing, I noticed something.
I actually didn't mind my butt.
Seriously, I don't remember once in my LIFE where I thought that. I've looked back at leaner times and thought "I looked way better than I thought I did!", and I know I've never been unfortunate-looking in any department, but my butt and I have had a particularly trying relationship over the years. I don't think I can recall another time when I didn't look in the mirror and think it was either too big or too flat. It was the first of my curves to come in as an awkward teenager, and as any woman knows, it is the body part that's SO hard to get results on, not to mention the fact that jeans shopping alone can put so many people into virtual panic attacks. Even though you won't catch me running around the beach with a thong on any time soon, it was nice to catch a glimpse and go "hey, it's ok-looking!" Maybe it's from age and realizing that I'll NEVER have Elle MacPherson's long legs or Jackie Kennedy's graceful poise, maybe it's from running more, and maybe it's also from the fact that a burned-out lightbulb creates soap-opera-worthy lighting around my mirror.
Butt I'll take it.
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