Seriously!
Since starting this blog a year ago, I have been less than stellar about going back to the gym. I went back to the gym Saturday and pushed myself really hard. I’m a little pissy today because I’m not back in shape already. What’s the point of exercising one day if you don’t look fabulous the next? Yet, I will go again tomorrow knowing I will have to watch my fat butt jiggle in all those stupid mirrors because gym owners want to torture me.
Anyway, I woke up yesterday morning feeling like I had been hit by a truck. Apparently crunches, lunges, squat holds, calf lifts, and elliptical machines are abusive. Everything hurts, but most of all my butt. Every time I move, it screams at me that I’m going to die if I move anymore.
I tried this stuff, but it did’t work.
I went around and begged my family members to massage my butt, but my hypothetical kids giggled and ran away. Then they yelled from a faraway room that I needed to find a doctor to help me with my problem. I contemplated this idea, but realized there is no doctor that will help with such issues.
I really started to think about this, probably a little too much. A proctologist won’t massage my butt, they would only want to stick a finger into it. A massage therapist would be offended, thinking I wanted a happy ending. Those massage chairs take care of you from your neck to your feet, skipping your butt. My only option is to become a stripper, but that is right out because my stupid workout didn’t change my body overnight.
If the Japanese can start a service where people pay for someone to sex-free nap, why not sex-free butt relief? So I think one of my readers needs to start a Butt out Booty Business so that when I need my butt rubbed in a non-perverted way, it can happen. You might say I’m butt hurt that it doesn’t exist already.
x,
Becca
Lady or Not… Here I Come!
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