Dear Mr. Butt Wait (There’s More),
I know that you don’t remember me, but I remember you, I mean at least one part of you. I saw more of you than I bargained for. Sadly, I couldn’t pick your face out of a police line up (hopefully, I’ll never have to) BUT if you turned around, and were wearing the same ensemble, I’m willing to bet that I would know you anywhere. Before you judge me, I don’t mean this in a pervy way. Let us go back to the day in question, on the TTC.
About three weeks ago, I was minding my own business, reading my book on the Rocket as I often do. I looked up briefly and saw a husky man (yes you) enter the subway. When I say husky, I don’t mean fat, just one of those naturally big boned men who was also very, very tall. You were wearing a t-shirt, black hoody and grey track pants. Not exactly a King of SWAGGER but that’s a story for another site. I had a bad feeling that you was going to sit next to me. Mr. Butt Wait (I hope it’s ok that I am shortening your name, typing can be so tiring), you turned to sit and I immediately shuddered. You had one of those vast, flat expanses of gluteus maximus that tend to get, you know, plumber butt. No offence to plumbers intended – I’m sure that there are a few of you with bubble butts that help keep your pants firmly around your waist.
Anyway, as soon as you turned around, I saw your tush coming straight for me. At that very moment, the subway jerked and I saw more of you than I ever needed (or wanted) to see. Your sweat pants and tighty-whities had begun their slow decent down your buttocks (she says with anatomical correctness) and I could have swiped my bank card in the slot for fun. I refrained because I am a lady. I looked on in horror as that deep crevasse came closer and closer to my face. Thank heaven the jerking of the subway just meant that you fell into the seat next to me and not on my face. That would have cause me more than a little angst.
Mr. Butt Wait, you seem like a kind, gentle giant, who through no fault of your own was never taught that sweats and briefs with poor elastic waist bands are a recipe for disaster. Might I suggest a tighter pair of sweats or at least a pair with a draw string to hold you in, much like a corset for a woman. Even a pair of high waisted Dad jeans might prevent people from partaking of your back cleavage. You might even consider a kilt, then people can wonder what’s underneath it without you bearing the burden of showing them. You are welcome for the free advice btw.
I hope that one day, when I see you next, there is less of you to see. Until then, I remain yours in fashion,
The Lady Whose Face You Almost Fell On
PS – The TTC is the better way to when it comes to getting around the city. I am mocking the situations that I often find myself in, not the mode of transportation.
Photo Credit: Enoch Leung via Flickr.