Back fat

Now, many of y'all are aware of how fabulously awesome Sky King is.  Even my own family seems to prefer him over me sometimes (can ya blame them?) But he has flaws.  Rarely are they obvious unless: it is football season, or some incredibly hot chick with a nice rack goes by on a pink motorcycle (one of his weaknesses).  Sometimes, however, he puts his foot so far into his mouth, shoelaces shoot out when he farts. 

At the beginning of my most recent quest for less ass, I  was, shall we say, slightly more rotund than I am right now.  I was squeezing into my fab workout gear, readying myself for some zen shit in the yoga studio.  I was pretty happy with myself, because half of the weight loss battle is wearing super-cute workout wear. I had just gotten an awesome pair of stretchy capris, complete with the ties at the calf. And, one of those kinda-sheer burnout shirts, advertising something earthy, like "Love the Planet" or "Stop Buying New Clothes Every Time You Have a Yoga Class".  I was feeling all hip and cool, and totally not 38.  Sky King was getting into his gym gear as well.  He looked at me, and gave me a look that said, "I'm thinking something very important, but I can't figure out how to say something without getting junk-punched."  I turned with a "WHAT????"  He opened his trap to speak, closed.  Opened, closed.  Opened.  "Ummm, that shirt is a little weird.  Are you SURE you want to wear it?"  I'm all, I know this shirt is the SHIT, so what the hell is he trying to say.  Ahhh, it BEST not be about my backfat.  He will DIE if it's about my backfat. "WHATTTTTT?????"  I say.  He ambles over, slowly, slyly trying to cover his "private area" with his hands.  "Well," he starts slowly, "it's just that it.....fits kinda funny.......in the back.....right here.  Maybe if you.......ummmmm...... I dunno."  "YOU MEAN MY BACK FAT????? I KNOW YOU AREN'T CALLING ME FAT!!!!!!!"

He pales, and looks as if he wants a major earthquake to hit. Tsunami.  Child with spurting blood.  Anything to keep from having this conversation. 

I turn toward him, reach back, readjust my sports bra, tucking most of the back-boob into the Lycra encasement.  He says, "there.  That's better."


And THAT is why he sleeps in a cup.