Mightier Than The Pen

Making The World A Bitter Place

My Butt Keeps Getting in the Way of the Keyboard

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Why yes, I am supposed to cleaning the living room, not putting down roots in front of the computer. Why do you ask?

Oh, please. It’s not like the kids won’t trash the place within ten minutes of coming downstairs tomorrow. Wouldn’t all that hard work just be a waste of time and effort? At least in front of the computer I waste only time. I have to save up my effort for the important tasks, such as dragging my expanding butt out of this chair and upstairs to bed.

I used to have a butt that stayed more or less the same size most of the time, but recently, a kind spouse whose relationship to me shall remain undivulged pointed out that the pleats on the back of my trousers were no longer pleats. This was news to me not because I don’t generally look at my butt (I have other people to do such things for me), but because I was unaware that my trousers had pleats in the back. In fact, until that moment, I couldn’t have told you with true confidence whether those trousers had pleats in the front, either (I have other other people to look at my lap region).

It could be that the trousers in question are simply showing their age (as opposed to mine). They’re made by Bugle Boy, a company that went belly-up (hah!) in 2001, which should give you some idea. I tend to wear my clothes beyond wearability. The Timberland boots that got me through winter after winter from 2001 ceased to keep the water out in about 2006. I finally replaced them in the summer of 2010. My undershirts resemble Swiss cheese, and that’s just the way they look; the way they smell cannot be easily captured with mere words. I’ve worn the same light hand-me-down jacket during spring and fall since who knows when, and I keep wearing it despite the stained, frayed cuffs and moody zipper.

So you’ll have to find a more convincing argument than fitness (or fitting) to get me to move my butt and clean the living room. And doing both at once is out of the question. Not to mention hazardous. You want the kids to come downstairs in the morning to find their father collapsed in a heap with a strained butt?

OK, don’t answer that question.


Written by Thag

April 10, 2011 at 11:04 pm

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