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bum.
Speaking of bums, I sit next to a flash developer who spent a couple of weeks taking snapshots of womens' bums and made an SWF slideshow with a soundtrack. It is the funniest, most gorgeous thing I have seen all day. All bums bright and beautiful, all tushies great and small.

I feel bad for people who don't have bums. This Caribana (now Carnival) weekend, there will be ample, yummy, booties, shaking to da music.

When I was a kid, my family was obsessed with my bum. They would joke how it could fit in a teacup. Family lore has it that one day when I was four years old, I was given a pair of jeans. On the back pocket was an embroidered apple with a bite taken out of it. I loved those jeans and their fancy pocket. I would swagger around in them and coyly ask strangers if they wanted to take a bite.

One lady in a parking garage at the mall came up to my mom and grabbed her arm: "You'd better watch that one," she said.

When the teacup bum became more amply adolescent, they would grab it, poke it, spank it jokingly. A family full of women, and I was getting harassed. To this day I am afraid of walking up the stairs ahead of people. I keep anticipating the charge of a devilish sister with hands outstretched, ready to grab my tush.

I spent the rest of my adolescence in baggy t-shirts, sweaters around the waist, and blazers. My bum became my enemy with all its independent shaking and swaying that I could not control.

But one year I was at Caribana Festival where all these afro-carribbean women were shake shake shaking. It was hypnotizingly sexy and gorgeous. And the music was so good, I started to dance. This time with my full, highwater booty.

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8.2.2002
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post #320
bio: adina
perma-link
8/2/2002
13:19

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