It seems to be a universal truth that dimples define the
beholder as being more ‘attractive’ or ‘nicer’ to the outside world. After all
doesn’t the movie hero always have a commanding cup in his chin or a pair of
charming concaved cheek treats to peek out and greet us upon the silver screen?
I too generally believe this theory since newborn babies rarely have told me to
‘get lost’ and only once has an obese dimpled ‘sister’ tossed her cookies n’ tray
my way at a ‘Nun Chuck’ Chinese buffet.
Though most men like me prefer to remain soft, shallow, and dip-free,
sitting on a bloated brick of a wallet all day makes my duff and personality, lean
to the deeply divoted, distressed and gruff. Who wants to sit and spin repeatedly
on a giant leather sandwich short on green ‘lettuce’ but always ready willing
and able to dent my DOWNtown dermis. Dimpled darling Shirley Temple never danced
with junk in her trunk so why does society hold my hurting heiny up with such calloused
disregard and un-pampered expectations.
It’s no wonder guys like me are growly and grumpy by mid-day
lunchy since we pack the back of our
pants and lean into the large load we lodge under our rumpy. I’m tired of reaching behind me for a pittance of Pesos only
to find that one side or the other of ‘Thing 1 and Thing 2’ is usually
depressed and unusually blue. Yes it’s high time that my backside moves up to
front and center so as to stop being abused and pressured by money-carrying conventions
(or double stuffed burritos) and to be recognized for its daily sacrifice.
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