I am not embarrassed to admit that I’ve had work done by a very skilled plastic surgeon. One can’t expect to look this good at almost 60 without a little help, can they?
Of course, the plastic surgery I had was the result of a vicious dog bite that left my nose hanging by a tiny little flesh-hinge. Too much information? It is the Gospel truth. Just ask Poe. He can tell you that I haven’t even considered forgiving him yet.
Plastic surgery wasn’t really much of an option for me, not if I intended to continue to use my nose for breathing and smelling and such. Besides, even Tim was a bit nauseated by the damage done.
It is true that I had suggested to Tim in previous years that what I really needed was a tummy tuck.
Nonsense, he said.
Or a boob job.
Don’t be ridiculous, he said. You must keep in mind that Tim grew up a missionary kid in the jungles of Ecuador. A boob job in the jungle meant nursing children of various ages, not just infants.
But never, ever did it occur to me to suggest to Tim that the plastic surgery I really needed or wanted most was a bigger butt.
Growing up, we had a term for oversized behinneys. We always referred to them as bubble butts. Bubble butts are not uncommon in our family, but the songs we sang did not glorify big-arses: She had two hips like battleships. One fought battles and the other sunk ships. Oh Maggalina-Haggalina-Ookataka-Wakataka-Okomokopoka was her name!
So, I’ll be honest, I just don’t understand the youth culture’s fascination with wide loads. Much of the credit for redefining “hauling ass” can be awarded to the Kardashian clan, and other ill-minded celebs.
According to stats tracked by the American Society of Plastic Surgeons breast implants are no longer the rage. Today’s modern woman wants an arse that rivals Mt. Kilimanjaro. Butt implants were up a whopping 98 percent in 2014 and requests for butt lifts (who knew there was such a thing?) have doubled.
Used to be if a woman needed a broad backside, all she had to do was eat a steady diet of Little Debbie Cakes and Krispy Kreme Donuts. Nowadays, women are paying upwards of $10,000 for a bigger bum. A person might as well buy a compact car and pull it behind them. At least for that price, it would eventually prove to be more useful.
It’s like these women don’t realize that all they have to do is wait until they turn 50. Trust me, that backside will grow and spread like kudzu over a billboard. No amount of exercise or dieting will stop the spreading.
Frankly, I hope I live long enough to see the Kardashian clan get the Karma that’s due them. They will need a wheelbarrow to follow along behind them in order to haul ass when that day arrives.
I suppose that’s what happens to people who never really have to work their asses off to make a living. They just scam people into thinking the most desirable butt of all is a big one.
If my granny were still around she would tell them all to get up off their lazy, fat arses and go get a real job picking collards or cukes, drying tobacco, or mining coal. Granny never could abide laziness in nobody.
The sheer notion that anybody would throw good money after a bigger backside is foolishness enough to raise the dead and disturb the living.
If the living weren’t already so disturbed in the first place.
Karen Spears Zacharias came by her backside the natural way – she’s a writer. Her latest book is a historical fiction that takes place in Appalachia, Burdy (Mercer University Press). Karen recommends Moon Pies and Coca-Cola and lots of sitting as the most efficient and cheapest ways to obtain a Kardashian-sized butt.