You can bet being born with a girlish girth like mine I’m no stranger to buttery muffins, especially when they flaunt their top floppiness over my beltline. Sprouting a couple of monster-truck size spare tires wouldn’t be much of an issue if only I had pants that would cooperate with a little extra room in the ‘trunk’. Yes it has always been daring duty for my dungarees to show some ligature love for my hearty handles and contain at least some of my tons-of-fun ‘gut-bucket’.
I’m not complaining for comfort sake alone mind you, because given the right conditions there is a genuine community safety concern here. Oh sure you scoff but it is irresponsible pushing my plump bumps around in public without a red flag tied to my denim-covered tail and no ‘beeper’ when I back up. People need to be forewarned to clear the area whenever I leave the crypt to venture among the living, with but a single button to cinch my withers and bind my booty.
Unsuspecting spectators should be particularly mindful if I engage in a hearty laugh or take-in an ill-advised deep breath followed by a cacophonous cough and sneeze at the trough. Those kind of untimely table manners among the good and guiltless can sadly result in potentially life-scarring tragedy and terror. Who among us is ever truly prepared to face the wrath of unexpected pasty projectiles of varying fiber content, and the frightening possibility of a bursting button bullet to fly in the eye.
Clearly for the sake of innocent bystanders if not personal pride alone, I am again at a ripe ol’ age which requires ‘rear-wrangling’ rubber pants or other devices to safely provide tum-tucking button back-up. I have already begun to greet geezer-dom with gusto so I’m becoming something of an expert at ripping and zipping Velcro especially when bending my supple rump-skin over for a sophomoric snicker or to simply shore up my Scholl’s. Though I have indeed gotten a lot wider than wiser with age you shouldn’t worry how I buttress the buttons on my britches since apparently jean splicing is in my genes … after all as a baby I was told that I really knew how to ‘fill-out’ a diaper!