Saturday, August 9, 2014


                            “I’m Forever Growing Bubbles”    


      I need a “buttometer.” Yup. When we travel, we spend an inordinate amount of time on our cheeks, and this is not a good thing. When taking a long road trip, they say you should get out every couple of hours. I think of my cheeks like two gently inflated balloons that deflate by the kilometer. By the time, I crawl out of the sports car, my balloons are flat as my jokes. I have to jump up and down, run around the rest stop four times, stand on my hands in the toilet stall (where no one can see me-yuck) before I climb back into my sports seat. Something is wrong with this picture.

     The “buttometer” would show me just how much deflating would occur by the kilometer. And why, you might ask, do I want to gather this absurd information? Hmm. This will tell me how many more laps around the rest stop I should add and, ultimately, how many more lunges I have to add to my workout when we get to our destination. 

     Now, at my age, the Brazilian bubble butt is off the table. When I had the initial beginnings of such a look, I thought I was fat (this was back in the day), so I went to a gym (I think it was the first one ever constructed on the planet) where they had this vibrating band that went around your buttocks and shook the bubble to shreds. I think I still have the welt marks. Apparently, bubbles were in for the hair, not the tush. Hmm. The times they-are-a-changin’.

     This begs the question:  When will bubble tummies be “in?”




*NEWSFLASH:  Today's paper quoted a doctor who says, "We lose two hours of life for every hour we sit." This means I'll be dead by 2:00 p.m. August 14th. Uh, oh.