Lately, I have noticed a disturbing new trend in my own body. Where did this change originate and why this sudden cropping up of symptoms? I am a relatively healthy (physically at least) 36 year-old woman and while my naturally greasy skin has kept me young and stocked on acne medications most of my life, my problems up until now centered above the beltline. So you can imagine my surprise when I began to discover the occasional butt pimple. That’s right, my lady lumps have sprouted a few lumps of their own.
At what point in my life did I go from being a vibrant, sexy woman to something more closely resembling Homer Simpson? I work hard enough to keep my face clear, now I have to worry about putting Clearasil on my caboose? It is bad enough when the stray blemish crops up on my back or chest. These are unsightly and although worse in the fact that others can possibly see them when going strapless or in a tank, they don’t bother me as much. I dab on a little concealer and go about my day still feeling pretty good about myself because those little beauties are hard won badges of working out honor. “That’s right, people, I have a zit on my chest and do you know why? Because I ran five miles yesterday and my sports bra, while cradling the girls with a tender, but firm touch, made me sweat.” I can feel good about something like that.
The random blemish on the derriere, however, is another story. Should I be proud that I was sitting around too much this week while unemployed and zipping through half the Hulu catalog on my laptop. Somehow, apologizing at the pool for the unsightly red monster on my left cheek by saying, “Well, you know, those old episodes of Arrested Development aren’t going to watch themselves and my comfy flannel pants were just so warm. I tell you, it was a sweaty mess back there from all that sitting, guess I clogged up the old pores!” This is not cute. This is not girly. This is not even Ame cool on the letting it all hang out there scale. There is never a good reason or effective way to mask ass acne.
I do not know what causes these occasional visitors (and thank whiskey they’re just occasional), but I do know that I have learned a few things. One, tight pants rubbing up against them all day is not good. Two, acne medications do nothing, although I’m still slathering those lady lumps with benzoyl peroxide or any other fantasy cream I get my hands on. Three, trying to pop the offender in the hopes that it will suddenly shrink and dissipate only makes it angry. There are many things about my own body I don’t like. Let’s face it, as much of a guy as I am, I’m still a girl and low self-esteem is just part of the baggage. Even so, this represents a whole new level of self hatred. So now, not only do I have to stress over buying a bikini, wearing a bikini, and remembering not to keep my stomach sucked in at all times, now I have to obsess over the fact that depending on where the offender is located, it might be visible to ogling eyes? It’s not like I want anyone noticing my rear to begin with, it is not my best feature! Do you think I’d be wearing this ridiculously revealing top if I wanted you to focus on my backside?!?
Making things worse, is the fact that this little gem of a problem falls under the category of things women don’t talk about. Men might actually be surprised to find out just how graphic chicks get when trading stories with their friends, but butt pimples, not something anyone ever owns up to. As far as I know, I am the only woman ever in the history of women to ever experience a blemish on my ass. I love being an innovator. I am getting more comfortable with my body as I age, and being in a stable, committed relationship (I try not to say “committed” too often lest the voices get nervous) does help in that area, but even I’m no more comfortable sharing the teenage wasteland that is my backside with the husband than I would be if I were single and cruising the bars. Because a few dimples of cellulite is never enough, I’ve decided to add more sexiness to the mix. No one needs to know or see that disaster, but now, thanks to my dedication to the blogosphere, my sweet husband who is sitting in Iraq doing his best to pretend he’s never seen me looking anything other than my hottest is slowly losing his . . . well, let’s just say illusions.
I’m trying to be more real as I age and I guess this is part of it. I’m not ready to post a pic of an offender alongside this blog, but I’m okay with admitting that from time to time, my innate hotness (self-esteem quotient up) is marred with a slight southern imperfection. I guess this is all part of life, but it sure would be nice if just once Sandra Bullock or Kim Kardashian owned up to a butt pimple. Seriously, with as much going on in the trunk area as Kardashian has going on, you know the circulation isn’t top notch. That girl has got to know what I’m talking about . . . right (self-esteem quotient falling)?
If anyone has any sure fire remedies or even reasons for why this is suddenly happening I’d be glad for the information. Right now, I’m just pretty happy I don’t live near the ocean and that the only others seeing my backside on a regular basis are my two cats. They don’t judge me, although now that I think about it, Sylvia does seem to be less interested in hanging out in the shower with me. Women can be sooo catty.
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