Yesterday marked my living six dozen years. I have always enjoyed that my birthday falls at the beginning of the July 4th holiday. In truth, July 2nd could actually be the “real” Independence Day, as the Declaration was signed on the 2nd but made public on the 4th. My first memorable birthday was when I turned four. Our backyard was full of kids, inflatable swimming pools and a firecracker cake.
There are years where my birthday left no impression. Certainly turning 16– drivers license, 21– register to vote and then the long 44 year marathon to 65 and Medicare. I did have have a spectacular 40th birthday at our Alamosa mini farm. I had a very memorable 50th in El Salvador. In this my 72nd year I will remember it as year “My Fanny Fell”.
This often ridiculed part of the human anatomy is called by many names: backside, behind, bootie, bottom, bun, bum, caboose, can, derrière, duff, fanny, heinie, keister, rear, rump, tail and tush and finally a_s. My own heinie always provided a particular utilitarian cushion on most any surface. Recently I began to notice a lack of padding on folding chairs and the like. Yes I have finally lost my A_S!
After a shower a few weeks ago, I decided to use the mirror and look at the the status of my posterior. What I saw looked like a wrinkled half inflated balloon. Where there was once supple padding there were lines of drooping wrinkles resembling a prune. I don’t remember asking for my butt to deflate. I now have to put a pillow on my dining room chair, as sitting there more than a few minutes brings squirming discomfort. Somehow I thought these things happen when you are like 89, not 72.
I even googled getting your butt back: We have 3 major gluteus muscles that make up our booty and when the gluteus medius stops firing the way it’s supposed to, you’re left with what’s commonly known as “Dead Butt Syndrome.” Which I thought was limited to congress.
Pretty much what followed is work your butt off to get your butt back. This included a bunch of 30-somethings doing lots of exercises that I would find nearly impossible. So I will just swim 300 laps a week and live with my dying ASS!
Onward and Upward, Mark