I know what you’re all wondering. Oh no she di-in’t. You’re absolutely right. I didn’t. But I would. Oh damn, I would. You see, in my twisted imagination of what life would be like if I did all those ridiculous things that I’m too scared or too middle class to do, I feel like life after butt implants would be fucking amazing.
I began to think of the prospect recently, when faced with my own saggy reflection of a backside once worthy of a double-take. Now, it’s barely worthy of a double-tap. One of my followers went as far as to DM me, in Italian: “Carina. Peccato per il culo basso,” which loosely translates to: “You’re cute. Too bad you have a flat ass.”
And I digress.
Truth is, he hit the nail on the head. My ass, lately, is looking like a deflated Macy’s parade balloon, stored away in some vat inside Pier 35 along the Hudson River, off-duty. And just when big asses are coming back in style mine had to go jiggle its way to my ankles. I practically have to hold it up with both hands when I walk into a room so it doesn’t smack the floor like a third foot in my stiletto click-click rhythm.
“Oh sorry, they didn’t have Manolo’s that come with a sidecar for my saggy butt cheeks.”
I’m tots exaggerating, obvi. But it’s a serious thing, guys. For the first time in my entire life I’ve actually pondered what life would be like after butt implants. Sure, I’d probably have to get all new jeans to go with my new side profile. But I don’t want anything too crazy, just a chicken cutlet on each side, that’s all. Just a little oomph.
Unfortunately I probably can’t afford the surgery and I’m terrified about the prospect of being a future guest on Botched when my Tijuana gluteoplasty goes awry – so, I’ve decided to squat it out. That’s plan A. I’ve started squatting at any opportunity. In the morning when I wake up, while I’m waiting for the pasta to cook, sky shits – I’m even squatting right now as I write this post.
If squats and deadlifts (that’s when you squat with a corpse on your back, in case you didn’t know), if those don’t work, then I promise you, I will seriously consider surgical intervention at a later date. But for now, Tash Oakley, I’m coming for you, bitch.