It’s ballsy to cop a feel of a girl’s chest-a guy might get away with an extra-tight hug-but for some reason, people think the ass is up for grabs. I often wonder if it’s intentional or if it’s just in the way. They’re fascinated by it. It doesn’t matter where I am-the subway, the gym, Whole Foods-somehow, guys always manage to graze it. Without them, I would’ve subjected my classmates to plumber’s butt in my sad attempt to squeeze into Abercrombie jeans.īut beyond the issue of clothes, there’s the issue of men and my butt. I wore a mall girl’s version of Jenny From the Block’s green Versace dress from the 2000 Grammy’s to my prom. Jeggings got me through college. Thunderbutt was my nickname. Luckily, by freshman year of high school, butts were a thing. If J.Lo didn’t blow up during the time I was in middle school, I wouldn’t have survived it with a shred of self-esteem. When I was eight years old, 50 pounds soaking wet, my family joked that I looked like I was wearing a diaper. In fact, the lazier I am, the smaller it gets, and softer, and just a bit saggy. They can’t. The more I squat, the more it grows. When you have a big butt, people throw that word at you a lot. I’ve learned to ignore trainers who claim they can work it out. This Kim Kardashian-Approved Jumbo Self-Tanner Is $40 Off During Nordstrom’s Anniversary Sale
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