It's the small slights that make the lasting impressions. That symphony of tiny hurts the reverberate through your mind, casting doubt and worry.
For me, it's the worry that my ass is too big.
I cannot claim to be waif-like. I have a booty. You cannot bounce a quarter off of it. A quater can sit on it, if you like, but eventually I'll have to grab it and use it to buy a Dr. Pepper. (Dr. Pepper = Love, just FYI.)
I know my ass-titude is robust, but I don't need the reminder.
Take, for example, this morning. The day started well. Everyone was up on time, somewhat cheerful, well fed and ready to walk out the door. The ball of fire, as per usual, hadn't stopped talking since he woke up and continued his banal chatter down the stairs into the car. As I slid the ass in question up into my seat, I heard a telltale shredd that gave me pause.
I looked at the kid and said, "I just ripped my pants."
He said, "Let me see!!"
I am not going to lie, I wear panties that are not appropriate for a 6-year old. I grabbed my jean shards and pulled them together to show him the split, while trying to hide the slip of pink that was showing through.
He said (I'm getting a little weepy here) "Momma! Your bottom is too big for your pants!"
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