Monday, January 10, 2011

The Fat Ass

            I saw a fat ass today.  I’m not talking a well-shaped Latina ass.  I’m not talking a little junk in the trunk.  This was not curvy.  It was no bubbly Oakland booty   I’m talking a really fat ass.  Huge.  And I can’t remember if I’ve ever seen one in this neighborhood before.  I was shocked.  I thought about it the whole drive home.  I asked my friends about it.  I asked The Husband.  The consensus: no one can remember the last time they saw saw an unruly large ass in the neighborhood (unless this was a personality issue).
This isn’t to say that every one in Happy Valley is skinny, but no one seems to be gawk-at sized.  You don’t see obese.  People, regardless of dress-size, are athletic.  They make an attempt to be fit.   It’s what we do here.  It’s all we do here.  We don’t let ourselves go completely because our only real tangible connection to one another seems to be that we are all superficial.   This may be the reason why or perhaps a result of The Club being the hub of the Habitrail. (The Club = the spendy neighborhood gym.  The Habitrail = the route everyone drives in an average day: Home to school to The Club to Ralph’s to The Other Strip Mall to The Park/Beach to Home, etc).  I never really noticed this before, but this is what keeps Happy Valley society moving.  I think for a lot of us working out or playing tennis or going to spin classes or doing yoga right after the kids get dropped off is all we have.   For many, this is our job.  There are some obvious trophy wives in the mix, sure, but I happen to know that even standard wives have this pressure on them to keep the effort up.  I feel like my sense of feminism has been set back decades as I contemplate this.  Nothing is free.   Image is the cost to live in the nice home and drive a nice car without actually earning the money for it in an outside the home job, apparently.  Okay, I don’t think I necessarily really believe that, but that’s how it seems on the surface.    
            So, I ask: Where in Happy Valley are these big-assed mommas hiding?  Are they just not a part of the social strata? And if so, why not?  Are they not accepted?  Is there some sort of Covenant that I don’t know about?  It’s amazing what you don’t realize is missing until you see it.   Come out & play.  And I hope I see you again, not only because it makes me feel better about my own physique, but because it gives this neighborhood some character.  

1 comment:

  1. Jen, is this you?! Loved this entry, especially the way you ended it. Also, as much as I joke about my bootay, I know it doesn't fall into this category, therefore it makes it easier to joke about, if that makes ANY freaking sense. I guess what I'm saying is, I don't joke about stuff that I'm insecure about.