In preparation for a marathon that is still a long way off, some friends and myself meet up on Saturday mornings to walk. We have a long way to go so we have started early in the year in hopes that 26.2 miles will seem like cake when October 20th rolls around. Yeah, right. I am even more scared when my cohort in crime informed me she lost a toenail on her last marathon. I about lost my smoothie when she told me that But apparently my stomach recovered because it didn't prevent me from coming home to a handsome slice of flourless chocolate torte.
After we walk we always take some time to stretch/cool down, discuss our time and distance. As I was bending over to stretch I noticed my girlfriends were snickering. I looked behind me to see this little 3-4 year old girl in a purple tutu staring at my bottom. I think the sheer enormity of it stunned her because she wouldn't stop staring. If I had stepped backwards I probably would have crushed her. She was quite fascinated by it.
We made eye contact. My eyes spoke volumes. It went a little something like this,
"Just you wait, turn 40 and you too will experience the pleasure of a spreading arse compliments of bearing humans."
"No amount of ballet or whatever you do in that tutu will prevent it from happening."
"Enjoy all your little juice boxes, teddy grahams and chicken strips with ranch while you can."
"Oh, and by the way, it's rude to stare."