60. Booty Envy

If you know me in real life, then you probably know I'm not the most well-endowed chic on the block. I have very little T and almost no A.  As a black chic, the T isn't so much of a problem, but the A is a significant handicap.

Over the years I've had a few male friends who were comfortable enough to point out my virtual A-lessness, and to impress upon me (out of love?) that I might wanna work extra hard in the personality department to compensate. I don't know about that, but I have definitely become abnormally booty conscious in the last 6 years or so. I'm like a dude, the way I peep butts everywhere I go. 

For instance, I couldn't tell you which of my friends has the biggest cup size, but I could definitely tell you who has the biggest butt. (You know who you are.) and it's not just my friends. Chics on the street, in the grocery store, at the airport. It's like I have booty radar. Out of control. 

In my defense, I'm not totally weird. At least in my family.  As evidence I offer the following exchange.

As my mother bends over to pick up a bag:

Oldest sister: Look at mama's booty.  It's her fault none of us got a butt. At least I got a chest.  Y'all messed up.

Middle sister: I know man.  At least I coulda had one or the other. Gimme something.  This ain't fair.

Mother: You should feel lucky. I coulda been ugly. 

Middle sister: True

So you see, booty consciousness runs in my family. As I suspect it runs in a lot of flat booty families. Still, I should probably stop staring at chics' butts in public. I feel like it's some crazy kinda fight waiting to happen.


(Post-Script: I did this post on my phone riding a train through New Jersey. Say I'm not dedicated.)