See More Butts

August 13, 2013

Author’s alert: There will be a tree frog in this anecdote, at the halfway point.

But I digress. . .

Have you ever examined your own posterior? Have you stood in front of a mirror, turned backwards and strained to get a look? Checked the undies? The bare bottom? The tiny “dark eye?” Come on, admit it. And if you haven’t perhaps you will after reading this. One can never be too careful.

I walked my usual route today, west for a mile and half to Piasa Creek, back east to Stanka Lane and up Stroke Hill. On the western portion of the hike, some cars honked at me—more than a few. It is true, I have beautiful legs—many, many hundreds of women can attest to this—and this may have been the reason for the honking. I turned back east and the honking continued. I was feeling, well, mighty perty.

Enter the tree frog. It was on the north side of the Great River Road path, on the return route. I stopped in mid-path and admired it, extending my hands palms up to get circulation going in my injured left hand. Without hesitation, the frog leapt three feet in the air, onto my right palm and then, perhaps sensing it had been impulsive, peed on my hand, then it leaped across to the other side of the path. This should be an Olympic event, and I shall be contacting the IOC to propose it: the frog-man-jump.

But I digress. . .

I reached Stanka Lane and turned left. There are three modest river rat shacks along the left side of the road. Four small children, two boys and two girls, were chasing a cat around their yard. They saw me and waved and their mother murmured something to them, probably about stranger danger. I had passed them and was about thirty feet away when on of the boys yelled, “I see your butt!” And the children and the mother laughed.

I no longer felt perty, but I kept on going and disappeared around the bend. And promptly stopped and felt my rear end, only to discover that the shorts had completely split open at the seam. Yes, I wore Fruit of the Looms underneath, but still: “I see your butt.”  I had two miles to go, and I wasn’t going to clinch my rear for that length. So I walked proudly, coolly; perhaps people would think I had invented a new trend, the next big thing after shorts hanging to your knees.

If I only had looked at my butt in the mirror beforehand.

One can never be too careful, gentle reader.

About Eugene Jones Baldwin

I am a writer: non-fiction, fiction, journalism (Alton Telegraph), essays (The Genehouse Chronicles) and have a website: I've published a couple dozen short stories and had eleven plays produced. Current projects: "Brother of the Stones" (available on Kindle), a book of short stories; "The Faithful Husband of the Rain, short stories"; "A Black Soldier's Letters Home, WWII,;" "There is No Color in Justice," a commentary on racism; "Ratkillers," a new play. I am an avocational archaeologist and I take parts of my collection of several thousand Indian artifacts (personal finds) to schools, nature centers, libraries etc. and talk about the 20,000 year history of The First people in Illinois. (See link to website) I'm also a playwright (eleven plays produced), musician, historian (authority on the Underground Railroad in Illinois, the Tuskegee Airmen) and teacher.
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