Nic Narrates

Last weekend, mom and I were at Target (apparently quite a brave feat as it is widely known in those parts for rampant pistol-whipping incidents in the parking lot).

Anyway, we went for swimwear. It’s cheap and brightly colored and fantastic. Yes, it is. I heart Target.

But in the fitting rooms, wouldn’t you know, I see that, once again, my ass has become the unruly bastard it formerly was. And this time, I can’t blame McDonald’s breakfast either. Maybe it’s all the Oreo Cakesters. I don’t know. It’s a mystery.

The thing is, I don’t remember having that much jiggle when Kit and I were in Jamaica in January, so what the hell happened? Seriously. What?

I’ve got just over two weeks before we head out to CA for a cruise with his family and I’m flipping out. I’ll be damned if I let his amazingly fit and tall and gorgeous sister make me look squat and ass-heavy in contrast. She’s in her mid-thirties and has two kids. And I…I’ve…yeah, we all know how that sentence ends. Fuck.

The thing is, I’ve got a janky left knee that totally sucks ass. While I don’t need surgery, I’m supposed to do “core-strengthening exercises” for my patella tracking problem. Sweet. But no matter how many of these fancy “modified squats” I do to combat the spread of junkness in my trunkness, in two weeks my ass will still be what it is today…casting a shadow on sunbathers, frightening small children on holiday with their parents.

Visualizing this, I figured I should probably get it over with last night. No hiding it. No surprises. I’d just lay it all out there. The end of passionate romance and my mythic perpetual youth.

I found Kit at his computer, furiously at work on an annual report/ ESPN.

“Okay, so I just need to show you something. For real. And it’s better that I show you now so you’ll know what to expect and not be so surprised or embarassed or whatever when you see me in my bikini in two weeks. It’s bad. Very bad,” I said, shaking my head ruefully.

And with that I turned around, exposing the untoned, untanned cheeks in all their poorly- lit and CELLULITASTIC glory. And then, I ran away to hide and finish eating my chicken wings and macaroni and cheese. I did not run gleefully. Nor far, or very fast.

Two weeks. I’ve got two weeks. Goody.

Filed under: is janky the same thing as wonky?, junk by Nic