I was at the ATM today. And as I was leaving a woman walked up. She was wearing a grey velour sweat suit. You know, the kind that isn’t really for sweating in but more the kind in which the only type of running that is done is running errands. The fancy kind.

Anyway, as the woman turned toward the ATM, I was suddenly blinded! A bright light seared my retinas. My rods went wild! I blinked a few times and as my eyes readjusted to the lower wattage of the sunlight I saw, across her butt, in great big, hot pink SPARKLY letters the words: PINK LADY.

I didn’t know what it meant. Maybe it’s a GREASE reference. I doubt it. I doubt SHE even knew what it meant. She probably just liked the bling. The point is, it caught the sun and consequently caught my eye. Rather it FORCED my eye to stare at her bum. And you know what? I didn’t want to. Really, I didn’t. But how could I avoid it? The eye is drawn to things that stand out. It’s a survival mechanism from the days when we had to fight off wooly mammoths. I’m not saying her butt had any resemblance to a wooly mammoth. I’m just saying, my eye wasn’t happy.

Because FYI. No matter what font it is, what color it’s in or how many sparkles are used… pants with sparkly writing across the butt…not a good look.  Okay, maybe if you’re Miranda Kerr or one of those other Victoria’s Secrets models who looks good in anything…or nothing. Nah. Not even on them.

Cuz you know what those blingy butted sweatpants remind me of? Jon Gosselin in those Ed Hardy T-shirts. And I think we all agree – that’s not a good thing.

And let’s face it, most of us who have ever carried another human being inside our bodies don’t really need to be drawing attention to our fannies. Do we? Well, I don’t. I go to great lengths to make sure no one looks at my behind. I mean, if you’ve ever seen me at a party, you’ll notice I’m the one standing in the corner. And those long sweaters… not a fashion favorite… totally strategic. Randy the perfekt husband doesn’t realize it, but he hasn’t seen my butt in years. That’s because I’m quite good at backing out of room without making it look weird. It’s become such a skill in fact, that I’m sure it’s imprinted on my DNA and will henceforth be passed on in my genetic line.

Okay. I know I’m going to get bashed by those folks out there who say a woman should feel comfortable enough in her body to flaunt it no matter how she looks. And I agree. I’ll be the first to throw out oodles of kudos to a woman who is so comfortable with her behind that she is actually willing to advertise on it in Helvetica BOLD.  

And honestly, it’s not the clingy sweats I have a problem with. Or the even the printed words really. I mean if a woman wants to announce to the world that she’s “juicy”, hey, it’s her tush.

It’s the BLING ON THE BOTTOM that bugs me. I mean, really? Do you need attention THAT badly? It’s not enough to have rhinestones on your sunglasses or sparkles on your top in the shape of a fleur de lis ( I have one by the way) or on those little train conductor hats that are all the rage but which, of course, I look stupid in? You’ve got to FLASH me with your ass?

And let’s discuss the logistics here. You cannot tell me that it’s comfortable sitting on all that bedazzling. (I mean, I get all “Princess and the Pea” if the the little seam on the end of my socks doesn’t precisely line up with my toes).  And what about the leather interior of your Beamer? Or the wooden bottom of your nook chairs? Is it really worth the scuffs and scratches on your furniture to bring attention to your “this and that”?

I don’t know. Maybe if I had better body image I’d consider blinging out my booty….NAH. I just don’t see doing it…EVER.

Well, to each her own. I guess if I don’t like it, I don’t have to look. Right?

Except of course when the sun hits the bling and I am temporarily blinded to the point that I’m not sure if that bump I went over in the road was a speed bump or the neighbor’s dog. Then you’re not just assaulting my sensibilities, you’re assaulting my senses. So, please. STOP!

NOTE OF APOLOGY TO ALL MY FRIENDS WHO BLING THEIR BEHINDS. It’s not you, it’s me. And lack of caffeine.