Turn the Other Cheek

My friend MJ is pregnant, and I couldn’t be happier for her and her baby daddy. MJ is one of those rare human specimens, built like two percent of the population. At almost six feet tall and hovering somewhere between a size two and a size four, MJ has a model’s body, very different from my own troll physique. Secretly, I am thrilled she is preggers because I can’t wait to see what a bowling ball is going to look like on her frame. MJ is not as thrilled about that part. She called me the other morning in a snit.

“What do you want, ho?” I greeted her warmly on the phone.

“I have a stretch mark on my ass!” she whined in my ear.

MJ’s ass is, or was, a thing of perfection. Never before was an ass made to wear a thong, if anything at all, and display it for all the world to see. Understanding how rare a perfect ass is, MJ was never one to keep it to herself. I encouraged her exhibitionistic ways by giving her fabulous panties as gifts, panties that were meant to be flashed. I could see how a stretch mark on her booty would upset her.

“I hate to break it to you, but you already had a stretch mark on your ass,” I replied.

It’s true; she did, as most women above age fifteen do. Our bodies grew faster than the skin could accommodate. Granted, you have to look for her stretch marks with a magnifying glass and a bright light, as opposed to my cellulite, which, much like a crater on the moon, can be seen with the naked eye from about 238,000 miles away.

“Yeah, but this is a new one, and it’s red, and you can see it. What should I do about it?” she said.

“Why are you asking your fat friend what to do about a stretch mark?” I asked. “Google it!”

The last thing I know how to fix is a stretch mark. Want to know how to bake a cake? I’m your girl. Need me to pick up your kids from school and feed them? No problem. Want me to organize your class party with a budget of $14.73 in loose change and an old paper clip? Done and done. But keeping a perfect ass perfect? You are on your own.

“You’re no help!” she sounded desperate.

“No, I’m not,” I agreed. “Good luck with that.”

Maybe I should have been more helpful. Would I let Mt. Rushmore erode? Would I fill in the Grand Canyon? Would I dam up Niagara Falls? A thing of beauty should be preserved for future generations. Except I am not envious of those natural wonders.

So long, perfect ass.