Big Butts and Other Sad Truths

So here’s a funny story. One that only a woman could truly appreciate. About a month ago, my dear husband of nearly 8 years (who will not be playing the role of Spa Boy for this particular story) lost his marbles. We were at a local Mexican restaurant, owned oddly enough by a Lebanese family, sipping margaritas when he announced that he had signed me up with a personal fitness trainer. “Oh, uh, thanks. Why?” I said just as I was about to dig into a plateful of enchiladas smothered in Jack cheese and cream sauce. “Well … your butt’s gotten … well, eh, kinda … Big.” Oh no he didn’t. “Come again?” I said raising my good eyebrow (the other brow just doesn’t have quite the same impact). “Your butt has….” I stopped him mid-stammer. “ARE YOU CALLING ME FAT?” From there, the conversation quickly spiraled into a bad tennis match that for the most part, I’ve blocked, although I do remember thinking that I would Google “divorce on the grounds of he called me fat” as soon as I got home. For days, I moped. I pouted. I practically threw my back out trying to peer at my rump in the mirror. Sure, I’m a little curvy. But I always likened my shape to Mae West, Marylin Monroe, Jennifer Lopez. I mean honestly, have you seen J Lo’s butt? It’s spectacular! How (I’m sure you’re wondering) can I possibly spin a beauty mention into this little tale of mine? Well, I also began looking for new ways to look/feel/pretend myself skinny. Among the winners: bikini waxes, bangs, bright pink toenail polish painted with dainty white flowers, lemon-flavored Skinny Water and fake tans. Oh, and working out with my new trainer, Kate. She’s great. And yes, I’ve forgiven the hubby and reinstated his Spa Boy status. I’m convinced now he did it out of blind love and a severe and long-term case of dehydration. As for the size of my derriere, well, I’m still no Nicole Richie and for that, I am glad. To be continued…. Photo: Nothing fakes a bake in a big-butt moment like these easy-to-use L’Oreal Sublime Bronze Self-Tanning Towelettes, $9.99 at most mass retail stores.