I Don't Even Know What to Call It, This Fat

Please tell me that I did not invent this unwelcome middle-aged new-to-me phenom. Please tell me that I alone have not discovered this new…

fat...this...

backassfat.

Tell me that it is known the world 'round. Tell me that in Japan "backassfat" translates as Sweet Dumpling Descended Like Bird On Buttocks, or that in Germany, they call it the Fraulein Strudel Doodle. Maybe it's poetic and cute in other countries and just.another.thing that happens to women.

I already know about our hijanes, our muffineffintops, but now? Now, I have to contend with this... this? Tell me that I alone have not invented backassfat (or maybe I should call it lowerbackfatmeetsassfat).

Don't I have enough to worry about already? Now I have to name my own fat?

I wonder sometimes if I didn't make this horrible thing happen to me. After so many years of standing both hands on hips, all mean and bossy, maybe I literally forced all the chub down into these weird lumps above my ass. Maybe I forced all the chub into lumps on either sides of my once sexy (?), baby-making (!) hips because I am a total bitch who put her hands like that. Who stood (stands?) like a broad, like that.

Maybe that's the reason.

I was on an Island last week in a I can barely type this bathing suit, yelling at ten children to surf safer, to get away from the.omigodthe.fire, and to "stop eating all the chips!"

Want to know where my two hands were? They were firmly on my hips, which is, after all, the universal sign of "I mean business" and perhaps the real reason for the backassfat.

Who knows? This might work for me. Maybe I'll just keep pushing the fat all the fucking way down until I have giant, Guinness-record-worthy gargantuan toes.

A girl can dream...