Oh, the Olympics. Dog sitting once again on the Upper West Side, i find myselc abandoning all responsibilities to take in the flat screen and a mirage of summery sports.
An observation: while boys may watch the Olypmics for antiquated man-reasons, girls have a whole other motive alltogether. That’s right. The buttlympics. Jealous, observing, we spitefully (and objectively) discern whose butt is superior to our own, and why.
Though I have to say, my tendency towards the obsessive taking of spinning classes has increased the overall quality of my butt – Any olypmic butt is far superior to that of an average citizen.
The volleyball butt,
The gymnast butt,
and the root of my most intense envy, runny butt.
Arguably, if I were super serious, I could spend the next five years at the gym, lifting and squatting and crunching things. I, too, certainly, could have a runny butt.
(Ew. She said runny butt.)
Or maybe instead I’ll just watch the Olympics while the dog licks my belly button. Maybe I’ll just do that.